Agents: Flight of Shadows
by Stormhawk
Summary: Story is now complete.
1. The Dark Side: Chapter One

**Title: **Flight of Shadows****

**Part One:**

The Dark Side: Chapter One

*Slightly updated since first posting* same with Chapter Two

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Rating: **PG-13 *read note*

*This is the note*

In chapters 1-3 of this part there are a couple of gross…what I'll call Whitman scenes. Anyone who has read Whitman will know what I'm talking about. It's not that graphic but it's heavier than the other violence in this series. It's still within the PG-13 rating so don't worry.

**Disclaimer: **This all belongs to The Wachowski Brothers and Warner Brothers. And the Agents, don't forget the agents. Stef, Stevie and Carol are mine. Vincent Greer is Overlord Mordax's. 

**Notes: **This is not for people new to the Agents universe. If you are there is required reading. Go read 'Whitman' and 'Reality' at the very least. Agents and You May Dream (By Overlord Mordax) are also recommended. 

Stef's eyes are blue-gray, Whitman's are Azure. This is important to remember.****

This is the first Agents fic to be uploaded chapter by chapter so be nice and review each.

Hey – I'm finally uploading them in HTML format. This is a good thing.

This story is in three parts, with at least five chapters in each part. Some chapters are shorter than others. I'm starting to become a fan of evil cliffies. 

Word Count: 1886 

**Summary: **Whitman left a dangerous imprint on Stef that makes her take on some of her traits. It becomes deadly when she decides to follow Whitman's path.****

**Please Read and Review.**

It was 3.27am; Stef Mimosa was in her office aimlessly typing on her computer. Sighing, she wished for the 334th time that it were possible for agents to sleep. Even a screensaver mode would suffice, but they had nothing similar. 

Agents must always be aware. It was the nature of their being. 

Maybe there was a standby mode but she just didn't know about. After Whitman she had realized that there were a lot of things that she didn't know about.

Taking a break from typing for a few moments she let her hands rest on the keyboard. Dropping her head forward she yelped in shock as she saw her hands.

The code. She was seeing the scrolling green Matrix code. Visible just beneath her skin like some sort of living tattoo. She had had it happen once before, in the final stages of her code addiction. 

Visible code like this was indicative that an overload was imminent. The last time they had cut the access before it had killed her. 

The mainframe had denied her access to it. She shouldn't be seeing it; it wasn't supposed to be possible.

She shifted as quickly as she could to Smith's office. His office was larger than hers but the same furniture and same dull color scheme greeted her. He looked up from his own computer. "Yes Stef?" 

"Two things Smith. One, I'm seeing code under my skin like I'm going to overload. Two – what the hell do you do at this time of night?"

"Paperwork mostly. What code?"

She walked over to him and held her hands out. There was nothing there now. It had disappeared, if it had even been there in the first place. "I saw code there. What's wrong with me?"

He took her hand and examined it. "I don't see anything."

"It was there a few seconds ago. I swear."

"This isn't my field. I don't know what to tell you. Go see Jones."

"Ok." She smiled weakly and shifted to the door of the tech agent's office. She knocked on the door.

"Come in," came his reply a second later.

She opened the door and stepped in. "Mimosa," he said with a slight nod, as he required one of the monitors to go blank.

"Jones, I…"

"Yes?"

"Um…" she looked down at her hands. She was starting to feel rather stupid, it wasn't there. Maybe she had just been hallucinating.

"Is something wrong?"

Stef swallowed her pride. "I saw code under my skin." 

"I see. I wondered if this would happen."

"What?" why hadn't he said something? It was his fault that she had almost overloaded. It was his fault that she could have died. 

It was his fault that…

She shook her head slightly. It wasn't his fault; she had lied to him and asked him for the access.

But it was still his fault for giving it to her.

All his fault…

"Would you like to sit?"

She sat down on the spare chair next to his desk. "It's an aftershock from the near overload."

Well, he would know what he was talking about. He had had the same addiction. "They happened to you?"

"They used to. Give yourself a few years. They will disappear within five years."

"Five years?"

"That is the upper range of the time frame. My own went away after three years." He tried to assure her, after all he was telling her the truth. 

"So there's nothing wrong with me?"

"No. There isn't Mimosa. There's no need to worry."

"I'm not worried Jones."

"You aren't a good liar." Stef smiled, she could keep her secrets when she needed to. She had managed to keep a lot of secrets. 

She really hadn't spoken to Jones a lot. He and Brown kept to themselves, working as partners or by themselves. But he didn't have the same animosity toward her that the combat agent did.

She had to ask him; it was something that she had been thinking about for weeks now.

She could have asked Smith, he would know the answer and wouldn't have a problem answering her but it felt more appropriate to ask Jones. Well, no time like the present.

"Jones?"

"Yes?"

"Was she…?" Stef didn't need to say which particular 'she.' "Was she a code addict like us?"

Jones sat back in his chair and thought for a second on how to answer her. Also, he was surprised with how blunt she was being. Usually it was, 'yes sir' or 'no sir' or answers with the absolute minimum of emotion.

"Yes and no. It will take a minute to explain."

"I've got a minute."

Jones sighed and started to explain it to her. "She was the first, you know this already. What you don't know is that before she came along we had never even considered turning a human into an agent. The mainframe hadn't even organized any experiments pertaining to anything similar until Smith suggested making her one of us when we found her body."

One of us. He had accepted her as one of them, now she only had to convince Brown of the same thing. 

"Ok."

"There was no time for tests. The order was given for her body not to be flushed…"

"Flushed?"

"Access your files later. She had been dead for an hour already before we began the process. Honestly we had no idea what we were doing so for certain points we had to improvise."

"Improvise?"

"Since there had been no neural activity for an hour her encoded memories began to degrade. The degradation was very slow but nonetheless it was happening."

"She lost data?"

"A significant portion before we could stop it. If she had brought online in that condition she wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds." He paused for a moment. "In hindsight that would have been a good thing."

"No kidding," Stef muttered darkly.

"But we did not know what she was going to become at that time so we had to…to bring it down to human terms…"

"I'm not human Jones."

"Nor are you a true agent. You are as close as you can become but for you most things are still on a human level."

Was that just a statement? Or was it an insult? Or some really strange sort of compliment? Compliments from agents, which are few and far between are always veiled.

"In human terminology we had to de-fib her."

Stef rubbed her hands and mimicked someone being zapped by the paddles. "Clear?"

With a slight hint of amusement crossing his face he nodded. "Yes, exactly but instead of electricity we used…"

"Code," Stef said poignantly, "you used code didn't you?"

"Yes. It filled the small but numerous gaps in her code and stabilized her. In a sense she was born from the same overload that almost killed us."

"But was she an addict?"

"No. She never chose to access the mainframe. But she may have if she had lasted any longer."

"Was it the code that sent her insane?"

"No one, not even the mainframe is certain as to the origin of her insanity. But whatever mistakes that we made with her we have apparently corrected for your transfer."

Stef bit her lip. Ouch. Score one for the geek. That was one of her unspoken fears that she hadn't even expressed to Smith. What if they hadn't? What if flaws and glitches were hiding below the surface waiting for a chance to surface?

"Sometimes I'm afraid." The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them.

"Of what?" For some odd reason he wasn't rebuking her for admitting an emotion. Very strange. 

Since she had already spoken the least she could do was to explain herself. That way she wouldn't feel like the idiot she thought she must be for expressing something like that to Jones.

"I'm afraid that you didn't correct all the problems you had with Whitman. You've only done it once before so it just isn't possible that you fixed all the glitches. I'm afraid of turning into her."

"Mimosa…" 

"That's why the mainframe ordered all of you not to tell me about her. You were afraid that if I knew what I was capable of that I would do it. Follow her example. Well, I'm afraid of the same thing."

"You've been online almost a year and you seem to be fine. No serious errors in your code that would suggest you're going to malfunction."

No serious code errors. Only a decompile, a glitch, a death (but Jonas had brought her back so that could be classed as divine intervention) and of course, the addiction.

Jones looked at her and could guess her train of thought from her expression. "Would you like me to give you a check up?"

Huh? "Um…what are you talking about?"

"If you are worried about the state of your code I can give it a quick check."

She shrugged. "Ok." He required his monitor back to life and taped a few keys on his keyboard. He brought new meaning to the words 'touch-type'; he never once looked at his keyboard. 

Unobtrusively, Stef looked over at it.  It was in three sections, the middle was a standard QWERTY keyboard (and numeric keypad etc), but on the right and left of that there was rectangular keypads with Matrix code symbols on them.

It was quite a sight to see him operating both Matrix keypads at once. A tech agent skill undoubtedly.

"You're fine Mimosa."

"Thank you Dr. Jones." Stef smirked, something she didn't do in Jones' company often. She was glad however, that agents were blind to culture references, as she really didn't want to decide whether or not she would say she was referring to Indiana Jones or the song from Aqua.

"If in doubt, require a self diagnostic." 

"Thanks." 

"You have put on a little weight however." Stef blinked a few times and waited for something to be added to that statement. He smiled.

"I was speaking digitally of course. There is a little more to your code than when you were originally brought online."

"What could it be from?"

"I would assume that it's some stabilizing programs. I had a few myself for a few months after the purging. They simply do their jobs and then disappear."

"Ok." She nodded her head and shifted away.

"Well?" Smith asked as she dropped into the spare chair.

"I'm fine. It's just something to do with the addiction."

"Good. Sure you're all right?"

Azure eyes flashed under her sunglasses. "I'm better than I have been in ages." A small smile settled on her face. 

"I have to do this work," he said politely. 

"Smith you need to get a life." His head snapped up and he stared suspiciously at her. 

"What?" maybe that was a line she shouldn't have crossed. But she'd done much worse. "What'd I say?"

"It wasn't you. Whitman said that once."

"I'm not Whitman. You should know that."

"I do, she's just a nightmare."

Stef smirked in a not all together nice way before shifting away.

Smith shook it off as he turned back to his computer. 

It was just Stef.

Still, for a second he could have sworn that it had been Whitman saying that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ok, that was the end of Chapter One, it was originally twice as long but I cut it in half so all the chapters are about the same length.


	2. The Dark Side: Chapter Two

**Title: **The Dark Side: Chapter Two

*Slightly updated since first posting* anyone who has read the first version, I added a joke/FOTR reference that you may like so scroll down to where Stef and Greer are watching movies. Trust me.

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2606****

**Please Read and Review.**

Stef sat in the gym. The fact that she was sitting twenty feet in midair had become completely normal to her. It was early in the morning so no one used the gym.

She crossed her blue-gray eyes sighed. She was so bored.

Someone walked into the gym. That she didn't expect. She looked down and saw a boy with a black ponytail. Greer. 

Greer had been Smith's recruit but Jones had taken him under his wing so the tech agent looked after him, but it wasn't like it hadn't happened before so it didn't bother anyone. Except maybe Brown but everything bothered him.

No harm in a little recruit torture.

"I know where you are," she whispered in a chilling tone.

Greer jumped around and held up his fists. "Who's there?"

"I can see you."

"Hello?"

"I know what you did last week."

He was less worried now. He turned and looked toward the door, expecting a trick by one of the other recruits. 

Stef flipped until she was pointed at the floor. Slowly and silently she descended toward the floor. She twisted her face into a horrible mask and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned and screamed.

"He, he, he. I got you Greer."

"I'm going to kill you Stef."

"Try it recruit," she dared him. She dropped down onto the floor and they started to spar. 

She really didn't try and beat him; it was all in good fun. She finally beat him by sweeping his foot from under him and placing her foot on his chest.

"I give up," he said with a grin. She smirked and offered a hand.

"What are you doing up this late Greer?"

"I couldn't sleep. What about you?"

"I don't sleep."

"That must suck."

"Sometimes. You tired?"

"No. But I'm in no condition to spar anytime soon. What do you usually do?"

"Scan for recruits, plan new ways to kill rebels…"

"Stef?"

"Surf the net and watch TV."

Greer raised an eyebrow; Stef was an agent – why would she do such human things? He didn't know her true nature. "They don't mind?"

"That's a secret Greer. Keep it or I shoot you."

"Yes ma'am." No matter what, Stef could still order him around. It was wise to treat her with respect.

"Want to watch a movie?"

"Popcorn?"

"Of course," Stef smiled, of all the recruits he was the one she could talk to without being reminded that she was an Agent. Not altogether a bad thing.

Greer's apparent insomnia meant they watched a movie every night, the only problems they had was when they fought over what to watch or got into character-based arguments.

And when they watched Fellowship of the Ring they launched into a strange conversation about how Elrond looked like Smith with pointy ears. 

Insomnia wasn't so bad, Greer reasoned, as long as you had someone to share it with. 

A few nights later Greer walked into the gym again. He stopped, all the lights were out.

"Stef you in here?" Greer asked of the dark gym.

"Yes," came the whispered answer.

"Why is it so dark?" On cue, some of the lights came on. Just enough to break the darkness so he could see her.

 He wasn't sure what to do. The person across the gym looked like Stef – sort of. Same height and basic physical appearance. What she was wearing made him question her identity.

"Stef?" he asked – maybe he was dreaming. A very strange – sugar induced – dream.

"Yes," she said with a smile and flutter of her azure eyes.

"Why are you dressed like Jessica Rabbit?" 

It was true; the agent in front of him was dressed in the same dress Jessica Rabbit from 'Who framed Roger Rabbit' wore. High slits and sequins. Not at all Stef. 

"Because I wanted to. Don't you like it Greer? Don't you like me?"

"I haven't seen you like this before."

"Forget everything you knew about me. I'm a new woman," she said with a slight shrug of her bare shoulders. Her azure eyes shone.

"I think I'm going to leave now," Greer said starting to walk backwards. The agent before him was unwell – that had to be the only answer.

She raised a manicured and painted hand and the door to the gym closed and locked itself. "Do you honestly want to leave?"

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. He was too confused to know what color his earpiece was at that moment. Earpiece! It would bring help, and then he wouldn't have to be confused anymore.

She saw his thought and walked quickly over to him. Taking his hand in hers she lifted her other and gently removed his earpiece, she dropped it down onto his collar.

"No we won't be interrupted." 

"Interrupted?" he squeaked. 

"How many reasons can you think for why I'm dressed like this?" She slithered toward him and held the top of his tracksuit with one hand, and placed a finger over his lips.

"Don't answer that. There's no need to speak at all."

She smiled again and a little of Greer's apprehension disappeared. There was no real reason to be afraid of her. She was taking a chance revealing these feelings; a little sudden perhaps but maybe that was the way she worked.

Greer's arms were at his sides so she let go of his tracksuit and wormed her arms through his. This wasn't so bad Greer reasoned as he returned the embrace. She slid her arms further up his back and pulled them closer together.

He ran his hands over her shoulders making her shiver a little. She tilted her head up and smirked seductively. 

He tilted his own head and went to kiss her.

Her blue-gray eyes flashed in confusion. She shoved him away and backed up to the wall. "What the hell are you doing?"

Greer was confused. "Me? This was your idea."

"What?"

Stef looked down at herself and shuddered, "what the hell am I doing?" she whispered. She required her suit back and her eyes flashed under her sunglasses again. She sneered at him and shoved him back with one hand.

"I'm going to hurt you Greer. Badly."

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I can." She grinned evilly and advanced on him. 

Knowing she was an Agent and he couldn't kill her he required his katana. If he could 'kill' her it would give him a few seconds to get away or at least call for help.

She ducked the first strike; something he hadn't expected and she required a sword of her own. She could match his speed and but not his skill, he had practiced – she had not. 

All of a sudden she dropped her sword and looked up at him imploring him not to strike. He didn't – for the moment at least.

"Greer wait. I'm sorry. It's just that…if they had known what I wanted to do they would delete me."

"Oh?" he raised a dark eyebrow.

"I like you Greer."

"You do?"

He lowered the sword and she walked up to him. There seemed to be no deception this time, just one really strange agent. Strangeness Greer could deal with. Maybe he even liked it.

She stood on her tiptoes, leant over toward him and kissed him. He didn't pull away and returned the gesture. She wrapped one hand around his neck to hold herself up and let the other rest on his chest. 

For a second, the recruit was even able to forget about Katrina, the only other woman in his life who had been occupying a large portion of his thoughts lately. 

Stef traced her hand over the front of his suit until she found his heart.

Still kissing him she stiffened two fingers and stabbed them through his rib cage into his chest. They found their way into his heart and she felt it stop beating.

"Sorry," she said as he choked blood before falling to the floor dead. She giggled. "Oh wait a minute, no I'm not."

She left Greer's body went to find Brown.

*****

Brown walked down a corridor and stopped dead. With their backed turned to him he saw a blond woman. 

Whitman! He screamed silently, the word went through the earpiece to all the other agents.

She turned and his…fear…subsided. It was only Mimosa.

"Mimosa," he growled.

"Oh, sorry," she said as she waved a hand and the blond hair disappeared. "I was just interrogating a rebel. I had to alter my appearance."

The combat nodded once. It was acceptable. 

"You thought I was Whitman didn't you." She smirked rather wickedly. 

"No."

She smiled and walked toward him. She placed two hands on his chest and grabbed his suit.

"You're never been very nice to me."

"Get off me." He demanded, she smiled but didn't let go.

"I'm afraid you have to pay for that."

He went to punch him but she caught the fist calmly and shoved him into the wall. She required two long knives and anchored him to the wall by slamming them through his elbows.

He tried to pull himself free but he was well and truly trapped.

"You know what Whitman taught me?"

He didn't answer. He knew exactly the kind of things that Whitman could teach.

"An Agent can feel pain. So much pain that they wish that they were dead. Then they die. I can do that. I'm going to do that to you."

She took a step back and held out her hands. Brown felt his code being pulled apart. Byte by byte he was pulling pulled apart.

He didn't want to look at himself but he did, as each byte was drained away it manifested as skin and bone being ripped away.

Stef screamed in delight as at last he fell as a bloody heap to the floor.

"You should have been nice to me."

Two down, two more to go.

She _required _all the flecks of blood to be removed from her clothes. Now she was going to get Jones, she knew exactly where he was going to be. The geek never left his room.

Without looking back at what had been Brown Stef strode down the hall. She knew exactly what she was doing.

At least she thought she did. 

Without knocking she walked into the tech's office and looked down at him. 

It took a second for Jones to acknowledge her presence; all of his existence was concentrated on the screen of code in front of him.

Stef was shocked, he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. In all of her months there she had never seen Jones or Brown without their sunglasses. She had just assumed they didn't have eyes. 

His were green. A pretty shade, too bad in a second they wouldn't open again. Ever. She had noticed his look when he had been staring at the screen.

"You miss it Jonesy?"

"My name isn't Jonesy Mimosa," he said with a hint of amusement before he looked up and noticed her expression.

"What's going on?"

"Are you sure you want to know? I don't think you do, all you have to know is that in a few seconds nothing will matter anymore. Not for you anyway. Brown and Greer are already in the land of blissful nothing."

He didn't need a translator to figure out what she meant. She had killed them.

She had killed Greer. He wasn't going to let that pass without a fight.

He went to stand to avenge the murder of his friend. She pushed him back down by his shoulders and stared into his eyes.

"You were the one who did it weren't you?"

"Did what?"

"Turned me into this freak thing that I am now."

"You aren't a freak."

"Thanks to you I don't belong in either world, with either side."

"You've never expressed these feelings before."

"Feelings? Agents aren't supposed to have feelings remember so why was I supposed to express any?"

"Mimosa…"

"Shut up Jones. Just shut the hell up." Jones did as he was asked, he shut up. 

She pushed him and his wheeled chair back several feet so she could get at his computer. Before he was able to get up her hands flew over the keyboard and he started to shake.

At normal access the code takes weeks to take any sort of effect but it isn't dangerous, it just stops an Agent from performing their normal functions at their regular level. 

The next stage; total access, causes an overload about an hour after the access begins. 

The amount of information Stef pumped into Jones caused him to overload ten seconds later. He simply exploded and then nothing was left of him except for a few sloppy green pieces on the walls.

She left them and walked toward Smith's office.

*****

Smith had heard Brown's cry of 'Whitman!' and had ordered all the recruits to leave the building.

Then he had tried to contact his fellow agents. None had responded. He was sick to his stomach with worry.

Whitman had been deleted. How was it possible she was back?

The again, they had thought that fifty-four years ago.

He had locked his office door. It was a futile gesture. He was by no means a coward but Whitman was the only person besides Anderson that the agents had good reason to be afraid of.

His thoughts turned to Stef.

He didn't know if she was dead or not, he didn't know what Whitman would do this time to her. He couldn't hear any of the other Agents. 

He felt damned for getting Whitman turned into an Agent. It would haunt him until the end of his days.

The doorknob wiggled. She had come for him. He drew his gun and aimed it at the door.

"Smith! It's me. Let me in!" Stef cried from outside.

He thanked the mainframe and unlocked the door. Stef barged in and locked the door behind her. 

"I'm glad you're ok," she said to him.

"Feeling's mutual. Have you seen anyone else?"

"Most of the recruits got out fine. The guards are fine as far I can tell. Jones is gone…don't make me think about Brown. She got Greer as well."

"Do you think she's close?"

"She's closer than you think." She said in a voice that wasn't her own.

No. Smith shook his head and backed away from her. "You."

"Yes me."

"How'd you get back Whitman?"

"I'm not Whitman. I'm Stef. I just learnt a few things from her. I got the others, now it's your turn to pay."

"You don't know what you're doing Mimosa."

"No Smith, you're wrong. For the first time in a long time I know exactly what I'm doing. You made me a freak; I don't have anywhere I belong. I'm nothing."

"You belong here. With us."

"No I don't. Don't start spouting this crap now. It's too late for that."

He leveled his gun at her. She kicked his hand and it went flying. Knowing it was kill or be killed he wrapped his hands around her throat and started to squeeze.

She laughed in his face. "You're not going to kill me this time." She kicked him and sent him flying across the room. Straightening her shirt she walked over to him.

"After I'm through with you I'm going to kill Stevie as well."

Ok. That's it. He would not let that happen. He stood and readied himself to kill her but she was too quick. 

She plunged both of her hands into his middle. She tore him in half.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Well, what do you think? Should I bother uploading the rest of the chapters?


	3. The Dark Side: Chapter Three

**Title: **The Dark Side: Chapter Three

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1509****

**Please Read and Review.**

Stef stepped back from the mess that until recently had been her best friend. His simulated blood was all over her hands; she was covered in red up past her wrists.

It was done. All of her enemies had fallen. Her azure eyes rolled back into her head with joy and when they came back down they were blue-gray. 

NO! Did she really just do that? NO! She had just killed her friends.

Azure. 

It felt good. Vengeance for everyone was served.

Blue-gray

She had murdered her allies.

Azure.

It had felt so good. She loved the power she had. The power to kill, the power to destroy.

Blue-gray.

Smith was dead. Greer was dead. Jones and Brown were dead. She was to blame.

Azure.

They had deserved to die.

Blue-gray.

She started scream and didn't stop. She fell against the opposite wall and slid to the ground. She pulled her knees up to her chest and held them tightly then she started to cry.

*****

In his lab in the real, real world Arthur Jonas, the programmer of the Matrix and the rebel's 'real' world, laughed to himself.

More than any other person in the Matrix he loved to make Mimosa insane. To twist her reality and make her suffer. Yes, he was sadistic but there was a simple explanation why he hated her so much.

Her construct was based on his ex-girlfriend.  

Serica Maat was the real version of Stef. She was the sister of Phelan Maat the programmer. Serica had dumped him after they had been together for three months.

Jonas had been heartbroken and started to fight with her. She had run out into the street to get away from him and a car had hit her. She died a week later in hospital. 

It was her own fault, Jonas reasoned, if she hadn't spurned him she would still be alive. The minute she had said she was breaking up with him hatred had flared in his black soul. 

A hatred that would be unleashed upon every incarnation of Serica. The first reincarnation of her, Sula, had been in the first – perfect – Matrix. He had brought her out into his world and explained the falsity of the world.

Then he had sent her back to die in her perfect world.

But this new version was different to both Serica and Sula. Stef was a paradox – but even paradoxes and enigmas had breaking points. He would find hers. He would send her insane.

But he wouldn't have to do it alone.

*****

Someone was shaking her gently. Stef opened her eyes and saw Smith.

Screaming she climbed to her feet and backed away. She was still in his office but…

He wasn't dead. 

Forcing herself to breathe she looked at him. "I killed you."

"What?"

What the hell was going on?

"You had a glitch Stef."

"No. It wasn't a glitch. I became Whitman. I killed everyone. I tore you in half." God, she couldn't see it but she could still feel his simulated blood on her hands. She shook.

"You just had a glitch."

"I murdered you. I killed Greer. I executed Jones and I tortured Brown." The details of the massacre would never leave her for the whole of her theoretically immortal life. 

Smith didn't walk toward her but he didn't back off either.

"Why?" was his only question.

"Whitman left something in me, she left her dark side in me."

"Then it was her?" If Whitman had left some sort of virus in her, in her glitch she couldn't blame herself for it. Even if it was only an electronic nightmare.

"No. All of it was me, I liked it. No, I loved every second of it. I couldn't stop at one, I had to kill everyone. She showed me what I could do and I did it."

He was silent for a minute.

"Show me."

"I think even you'll puke after you see this." It was supposed to be impossible for an agent to puke, cry or do anything that was purely human. Stef could do anything that a human could do if she chose to or as a pure response, like she had puked after seeing what Whitman had done all those years ago. Smith wasn't beyond crying so she was worried that he was also capable of throwing up.

"Give me the memory Agent."

Stef closed her eyes, bit her lip and did as he asked. He didn't puke but he did sit quickly down in his chair. 

He looked more than slightly pale after he finished reviewing it. 

He was very silent. He stared at her from behind his dark glasses. Stef gulped, his stare was quite unnerving but considering she could still feel the blood on her hands she deserved whatever she got. 

"If you ever," he started using the most severe tone she had ever heard anyone use, "attempt to do anything like that then I will have no trouble deleting you. Or if it comes down to it I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Ok."

"I'm not finished. What I saw you do was unthinkable and inexcusable. You will not be allowed to become a risk to us. Not after Whitman. There is no second chance so I would watch what I did and said if I were you."

Stef suddenly became very interested in the floor. _Just focus on the carpet_, she thought, _just calm down. Just breathe_. 

"Look at me," he snapped. Slowly she raised her eyes back up; she was afraid to look at him. Afraid, or maybe it was shame – she would think about it later. "You realize that I have to give a copy of this memory to our colleagues and the mainframe."

"Do you have to?"

"Though it was a glitch it is accountable as suspicious behavior and as such must be reported."

"I see."

His chair squeaked as he rose from it and walked around to her. "Stand up."

She stood and looked up at him. "And," he spoke in his normal voice, all the severity had disappeared, "I would never have to kill you because you are not Whitman. And I trust you will not become her. I trust you Stef."

"After what I did I don't even trust myself. How can you trust me?"

"Because I do."

She choked back a sob but the tears fell freely. He reached out his arm and pulled her toward him. He could tell she was still in shock by what she had done and hugs had always made Stevie feel better.

Stef felt very safe, safer than she had in a long time. Free of the nightmare that had only been a glitch her mind was at rest enough to wander a bit. 

It would be so simple to kill him right now. 

Stef started, where had that come from?

He's too trusting. He needs to be destroyed.

NO! These thoughts weren't her own. She couldn't be having these thoughts, not after what she had done.

*****

"Not having those thoughts?" Jonas muttered to himself. "Oh but you are Stef. You are, even if Carol is helping you."

Carol was Stef's polar opposite, he had programmed her that way. 

But the insanity wasn't a factor he had counted on, if he wished he could control any element of their world but except for certain…plot points…he referred to them as, he let the world run its own course.

But Carol's insanity was what made her fun.

*****

Stef shoved him away and backed away toward the door. "What's wrong?"

"Stay away from me! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Why would you hurt me?"

"Because I can," she hissed. The voice wasn't her own. He took a step back, with a scream she leapt at him but she shifted away before she could get him.

Reasoning she could get Smith later she shifted away to get one of the others. 

"Hey Jonesy," she said for the second time in the last ten minutes. The only difference was that this wasn't a glitch; she could get rid of them for good this time.

The tech agent leveled his gun at her. "Don't make me fire."

"You wouldn't," Stef purred, "you're too much of a geek to pull the trigger." She moved forward to destroy him when one of her hands shot out and grabbed the agent's desk and clamped onto the corner.

Apparently the move surprised her, she tried to pull it away but she couldn't. Reason washed over her face for a second. She looked up at him.

"Run Jones," he took his chance and ran from the office. 

Both halves of Stef fought for control for a few seconds, she tore her hand away from the desk and went off to obliterate them.

Annihilate.

Demolish.

Destroy. 

Kill.

She followed the nerd-agent out into the hall and found herself facing all three of her fellow agents.

She smiled cockily. She was going to win and they were going to lose.

"Hey boys – up for a little slaughter?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

No. It's not a glitch in a glitch. It's real. Well, do you need the next part or should I just give it up?


	4. The Dark Side: Chapter Four

**Title: **The Dark Side: Chapter Four

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2478****

**Please Read and Review.**

Three months ago.

It had been an eventful day for all. They had finally destroyed what had been left of Whitman fifty-four years after they believed they had deleted her. 

A clock behind Smith informed him that it was 10.57 pm, Jones would be there in a minute to deal out his report as he did every other night.

After Jones had dealt his report Smith was going to give him an order he wished he didn't have to give. It was the logical thing to do – something that any agent would think of – but it also felt like betrayal. 

He looked at the rough green cardboard of the folder that contained the specifics of the order. He had considered not giving but part of him felt it was something he needed to do.

It was only a precaution, nothing more. He would probably never have to think about it again; nothing would come of it.

He hoped so anyway.

Then again, no one had ever expected Whitman to go insane and try to destroy them. Some steps had to be taken.

At exactly eleven pm there was a sharp knock at the door. Jones could be annoyingly and tiredly punctual – predictable was the word, "come," Smith said lazily as his colleague opened the door.

Jones dealt out his report, as he normally did, no changes in tone or inflection, nothing. Smith wondered if the other real agents had ever experienced any sort of emotion, anything. He wondered why he of all agents had been the one to…evolve…past his original programming.

Then again, he wouldn't have it any other way.

He wouldn't have anything any other way.

"Any orders?" Jones asked him.

The moment of truth. Sighing inwardly Smith handed the folder over to Jones. "Only one." Jones' eyes widened slightly at the instructions. They were quite unusual, especially considering whom they were pertaining to.

"What's the detonation?" he asked objectively.

"Random code string of words: wall, angel, rebel, milk, recruit, death, trust." Jones nodded and left. 

Smith looked as though he had just signed his best friend's death warrant.

Which he had just done.

Three months later. The present.

"Hey boys – up for a little slaughter?"

All Smith could do was stare at her. It was as though her glitch had been a premonition for what was going to happen.

What would have happened, he corrected himself, if he hadn't given that order.

The agency would not suffer another Whitman. Even if it was Stef.

Even if it meant they had to kill her.

She smirked with all of Whitman's smugness. It had been one of Whitman's traits that he had hated. He was too arrogant, too haughty. Carol had always seemed to be wrapped up in her own silent world of self-satisfaction.  

Except when she had been killing, she was alive when she was killing. She found some perverse pleasure in it that not even Brown had found and for an agent he was downright malicious.  

Carol had been bloodthirsty, too much so for a normal person. He should have seen this as a problem but he hadn't. Then again, Brown's first recruit ever had been a murderer.

Then again, Smith wasn't completely to blame for his actions at the time. He had still been evolving; at a shy ninety-one years old he had still been developing what were still only proto-emotions.

He hadn't been the person he was today. 

Whitman had been the first recruit he had taken the time to get to know. She had been his twenty-seventh recruit and only the fifth to make it through the tests.

He had started talking to her one day in the gym as nothing more than an experiment. She had spoken freely with him. His other current recruits were either too well trained or still a little apprehensive around him.

They were a little afraid of him; he had overheard one recruit refer to him as 'creepy.' 

Instead of taking this as the insult that it was he had used it. He had used it in questioning rebels and with dealing with humans, people tended to be more cooperative with someone who was labeled 'creepy.' That and prisoners tended to babble when they were afraid.

Just to see her response, he had asked Carol if she thought he was creepy. She had laughed at him, laughed right in his face. Something no one had ever done before and been allowed to live. She had said, 'you are scary when you want to be but not creepy.'

This, in the strangest way had made him feel all right. Not that he would have ever admitted it to anyone at the time. At least not every human in existence thought he was an unthinking, creepy machine.

Then again, he wasn't a machine. He was a program. Rebels often got this wrong, thinking agents were robots.

Programs are people too.

He had seen that scrawled in blue graffiti once. He assumed some bored AI programmer or hacker with a criminal record as long as his arm had put it on the wall. But the graffiti had felt oddly poignant.

A person. 

In his one hundred and forty-five years of existence only three people had treated him like a person. Like he was something more than an agent. 

That wasn't to say that he hadn't formed relationships with others. For good or for ill; allies or enemies but with all of those interactions there had always been something that had kept reminding of what his was. Some part that reminded him of his true nature.

Whether it was the word 'sir' at the end of his recruits' sentences or the fact that they were at war with the rebels he was constantly reminded that he was nothing more than a program.

Programs are people too.

Those three people had been: Carol.

Whitman, his monster he had inadvertently created. She was his curse. The only other person in history, besides Anderson, who had destroyed an agent. No, it hadn't been destruction or even execution; it had been a horrific murder.

If he had known she had been going to turn out the way she did he would have never petitioned to have her made in an agent.

If he could change only one thing in history, he would have pulled the trigger that night. He would have killed her and never looked back knowing he had done the right thing.

Stevie.

His daughter who had always accepted him as a human until she had been told the truth. She had been the first person he had loved. Love was an emotion that he wasn't supposed to possess but he loved her nonetheless. And she had loved him right back without reservation.

It had killed him to let her go. He had given her over to Anderson of all people. Anderson was the enemy, the person he spent days on end trying to destroy but there had been no other choice.

It was better than letting the mainframe execute her. 

It would have been an execution but she had escaped, at least he still had his memories. No one could ever take them away.

Anytime he wished he could see her grow from a smiling baby to the young woman she had become. Like time-lapse photography he could watch her grow up. That was an ironic statement as her life had been a little like that.

In reality Stevie had been a month old when she left the Matrix even though she believed she was, and had the memories of, a teenager.

Stef.

Mimosa, his best recruit to date and likely ever. Who until this very moment he had trusted implicitly and had that trust returned. Part of it was because she had trusted him almost straight away.

After he had lowered his gun that was.

She had accepted him at face value; she hadn't cared what he was made of. 

Within two days of becoming a recruit they had discovered that her real world body was deteriorating. She wasn't openly upset, she didn't ask for an out as several others had in a past had done. She had decided to try and take out Anderson.

He could tell she had regretted having to die so he had required some warm milk. It had felt like the right thing to do. Like the decision to turn her into an agent.

Stef, his best friend – only friend in fact. Stef, whom he was about to murder. Mimosa, who was turning into another Whitman.

He had seen her do it once, even if it had in a glitch he had still seen what she was capable of. The dark side of her he had seen scared him. He had no trouble believing she could do it again.

"Initiate code," he said as she walked toward them. She stopped in mid-stride. He had activated something. Something that was bad for her.

Seven words later her code would be shattered. That's what he had Jones plant in her, a shatter command. The virus was theorized to be more effective than a deletion as in some cases a program could choose exile and become a dangerous rogue. Besides, it hadn't worked with Whitman so there was no reason to believe it would work on Stef.

Something feral flashed in her eyes. Smith secretly hoped that he could see her in there, to see that she was still alive. What he saw wasn't Stef.

"Wall," he started the 'random' string of words. If the truth was told, the words were the furthest thing from random. 

She had become a recruit because of a brick wall; he had trapped her with one. It had blocked her path and she had been unable to run away.

He opened his mouth to say the second code word but then he heard something awful.

"Hey Stef," Greer said as he came around the corner in the corridor. He winced when he saw Brown, "I mean Agent Mimosa."

Even at a time like this Brown found the time to give the recruit a disapproving look. 

"Greer run," Smith instructed the younger man.

"Why?" Greer was confused; there was something he was missing.

"Don't question it recruit – run."

"Mimosa what's going on?" he whispered to her, ignoring Smith.

"He's telling you to run away from me."

"You? Why?" Was this some kind of test? But if it was, why? Then again, Greer had learned not to question the things that the agents did.

"Because I'm dangerous."

The recruit grinned, "I know that already."

She started to walk toward him, she was done with whispering. "Did you also know I was going to kill you?"

Ok. That freaked him a bit. The agent was acting strangely; maybe he should follow Smith's instruction. He backed up a step as she reached him. 

He turned to run she caught his tie and sneered. She thought she had him. He required a sharp dagger, sliced through the taut tie and ran.

"Angel," Smith spoke the second code word. Stef blinked as part of her death-code locked into place.

This was as guardedly significant as the first. He had discovered that the first time they had met, when she had been two years old, she had thought he was an angel. 

The second she blinked was all the time they needed to run forward to try and restrain her. 

Whitman could kill an agent without blinking. Stef was an even match for both Smith and Jones but less of a chance against Brown. In any case, no being, code or human (except for Anderson) stood half a chance in hell of taking on three agents and come out smiling.

"Rebel," was the third word. 

Kicking, blocking, punching. Attacking and defending. It was a fight to the death and the loser had been pre-selected. They were going to win and she was going to lose.

"Milk," was the fourth. Warm milk, something that always made her feel better. A very human thing but he had learned that the best part of her was her human side. Not that he would ever require it for her again because in three words' time she wouldn't be coming back.

Not even with her impressive record of coming back from the dead. Most of the times there was a technologically based reason for that. There had been one incident however when she had literally died, he had killed herself.

She had been dead and she had come back. It was against his nature to believe in miracles but there was nothing else it could have been.

In the second she stopped Brown punched her in the face and sent her into the wall behind her.

Literally into it. Half of her was hidden in the plaster. If she had been human the powerful blow would have knocked the head off her shoulders. 

It was the break they had needed. They pulled her out and slammed her back against it, pinning her there. Jones held her left side down while Brown restrained the right. She struggled to get free but there was no way she was getting loose.

Smith stood in the center with one hand against her throat, holding her head against the wall. "Recruit," was word number five.

"Death," was the sixth. Only one more to go.

He took a few microseconds to look into her eyes. The sunglasses had been knocked off her face long ago, so had his in fact though the others somehow still had theirs in place. 

Humans believed the eyes to be the windows to the soul. 

He needed to see any glimmer that was Stef and he would cancel the code. Anything at all.

He saw nothing.

"You're not going to kill me," she said in her voice that was every part as much Whitman's as her own. 

Please don't make me do this.

Please let this be a glitch.

"Trust," the sequence was complete. This word was perhaps the most significant; she had been the first person he had ever been able to trust. Part of this was because she had kept his secrets, like his emerging emotions, to herself.

She stopped struggling. She knew something was happening. Everything was unnaturally quiet for a few seconds before an ascending whine started.

Stef's skin started to glow green. Brighter green cracks appeared and she shattered apart. Small pieces of green code like shards of broken glass blew past them with such force that the agents took an involuntary step back.

One sorry heap of struggling code was at their feet. Simultaneously all three analyzed it. It was what Whitman had left in Stef.

They drew their weapons and shot it.

It stopped struggling.

With nothing more to do, with the threat destroyed, they retreated to their offices.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

C Ya Stef


	5. The Dark Side: Chapter Five

**Title: **The Dark Side: Chapter Five

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1941

Hi – This was supposed to be up a couple of days ago but the damn FFN server was playing up. So here it is at last. 

To all my regular reviewers, I love you all. 

Go check out Overlord Mordax's new stories, '3 am' is an insight to Brown and 'The Darkness Within' is a fantastic companion poem to this piece.

Oh, Agents is expanding, we now have a messageboard (see link on bio page) and an art site (see link on Mordax's page)

**Please Read and Review.**

As soon as he got back to his office Smith shifted away. He felt sick, something that had never happened before. But it was understandable, he had just killed her.

But it hadn't been her, it had been Whitman. Whatever it was that made Stef, Stef was so far hidden or deleted that she hadn't been able to fight her predecessor, to stop her from taking over.

"Come on Stef," he whispered. He was truly half expecting her to tap him on the shoulder any second. Somehow she always managed to escape death. Why should this time be any different?

Because this time it was different, the shatter command was the most effective way of taking an agent offline permanently. And he had done it to her.

He ripped his earpiece out; he didn't want the mainframe seeing his thoughts. Turning to the building beside him he pulled back his fist and rammed it through the wall. 

Pieces of brick fell to the ground. He released a long sigh and leant his head against the wall.

Please let this be a glitch, he begged silently.

But he knew it wasn't.

He turned and slid down to the ground. Lost in his thoughts it was late in the afternoon before he finally became fully aware of his surroundings again; red streaks were staining the gray clouds like blood while the golden sun sank below the horizon. 

He didn't shift back to the Agency; there was somewhere he needed to go first. He appeared outside an apartment building on a quiet city street. He pushed open the door and walked up three flights of stairs to the door of an apartment.

It was Stef's apartment.

Of course he didn't have a key so he required the door to open. Walking in he closed the door behind him. He turned on the living room light and light flooded into the dusty apartment.

It had been in disuse for almost a year, being used only for a couple of days, three months ago when Carol had reared her ugly head.  

He had been in there twice before but he had never bothered to look at the little details. Like the shelf of books below the window.

Kneeling beside them he saw a few familiar titles as well as a couple of cobwebs. He dusted them away. 

Not that it mattered, in a few months, the money for the rent that was automatically taken from an account would run out soon and someone else would take it over.

No, if nothing else he wouldn't let that happen. One requirement later there was one hundred thousand extra dollars in the account. That should pay the rent for a while longer.

It had been a futile gesture. The empty apartment wouldn't bring her back to life. But it might help to keep his memories a little fresher.

He left the living room and pushed open her bedroom door. The color scheme was slighter darker in this room than the others. It had been her sanctuary, her hideaway from the rest of the world. 

There was a box sticking out from the corner of the bed. He lifted the blanket and pulled it out. Blowing the dust from it he saw the faded label 'diaries.' He lifted the lid and saw a lifetime's worth of journals and diaries.

Smith looked down at the diaries. He went to open one but stopped himself – it was against principles to read someone else's private thoughts.

Did that rule still apply once they had died?

No, cross-referencing a few files he discovered that it wasn't taboo to read them after they had gone.

He picked up the box and took it out to the kitchen. Turning on the light he sorted them into order according to the year scribbled on the front. He meant to read them in chronological order but he picked up one from a few years ago and opened it first. 

Most of the entries were short. Little notes on what she had done or events that were happening. Occasionally there had been a few rants about her computer being broken or the modem not functioning. He smiled; she was the same on paper as she was in person.

He stopped smiling when he came to the entry on mother's day that ran over a few pages.

Dear Journal 

_Why do I even write that? _

It's three in the morning. I can't sleep, I tried but I just can't. It's mother's day – how can I? This is the worst day of the year, the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Sometimes I wish I could delete that memory of what happened that day.

You couldn't remember that journal, you hadn't been printed yet. 

I am a wicked person; I killed the person that I had loved the most.

Smith stopped reading, what was she talking about? He kept reading.

It was the year I was eight. I had walked in to say 'happy mother's day' to her and found her dead. I couldn't understand it at the time, I knew she had been sick but what eight-year-old truly understands death?

I had started screaming and hadn't stopped until the ambulance officer had pumped me full of sedative.

Some part of me had died that day. A piece of me is still missing now. An irreplaceable part of my soul had been torn out and left an untreatable gaping wound that would never heal.

_It's all my fault. I'm to blame. If I had been awake with her that night and sitting beside her I know she wouldn't have died. If I had been there she might still be alive now. Somehow she would have found a way to hold on if I had been there._

But no, being stupid bitch I am I was asleep. I had felt tired so I had gone to sleep. How selfish can I person get? Satisfying their own need for sleep while their mother was dying. Probably just me, any other person would have been there.

If I had been there, she would of held on for me. She would have stayed. It's all my fault.

All my fault.

I hadn't known it was going to happen.

He stopped reading. Maybe he should stop; it wasn't right to see a person's innermost thoughts. This was a side of her he had never seen. How she managed to exert her carefree persona with something like this hiding inside was beyond him.

There were several odd spots on the paper. The page had been wet at some time or other. 

*****

She had been crying while she had written that passage. 

What he didn't know that those few years ago she had sat right where he was now with hot tears running down her face, the grief threatening to destroy her.

She often felt like the rest of her family – what little there was of it had forgotten about Emma. She felt like she was the only person who was affected – the only person who remembered her.

She thought about her everyday, fragments of memories and photos to hold them stable. But it was less often that she allowed her thoughts to dwell on her. She couldn't handle it; she would be consumed by it if she allowed herself to think about it.

But everyday she was reminded that she was gone.

Stef, as some people had done had considered suicide. Though she hadn't put it into those words as a child she had as soon as she had understood that it was possible for pain to go away.

All you had to do was kill yourself.

She had thought about it, decided that if she was going to do it she would jump. She had thought about it some more and pulled herself back from it.

She was stronger than that, her mother had been strong and she had never given up. Though she wasn't the perfect person she wasn't going to give up.

*****

He continued to read the diary; none of the entries in the rest of the book were that intimate or vulnerable as that one entry.

Next, he chose the volume that coincided with her first year of high school. That should be a lighter read. 

He found the right entry. 

Hey Journal.

_They use 'hey' at high school more than 'hi' thought you'd like to know. Not that you care because you're just a book._

New school, new friends. Hang on a minute – what friends? 

I had been there less than an hour before I was labeled an outcast. Really it wasn't my fault, really.

_All I did was fight with a guy who guy who tried to steal my locker. I punched him in the face, I was aiming for his chest but he ducked and I caught him in the nose._

_Seconds later I got abandoned by everyone. Not that I care. _

_They have a good library and good computers. That's all I care about. _

On the corner of the page she had taped her old school library card. Smirking was a fine art she had mastered even back then.

He turned a few more pages, flicking through the mostly empty pages until he came to a brightly decorated one. The decorated date was today's date. 

It was her birthday today. And he hadn't even known. Smiling sadly he looked off into the distance, "happy birthday Stef."

*****

Jones sat in his office searching for anomalies in the Matrix code. The scrolling code on the screen in from of him distracted him from everything else until someone shifted in.

Jones looked up as Agent Clarke appeared. 

Clarke acted as the mouth-of-the-mainframe. He gave out orders and briefings. He had the same basic physical appearance as all the local agents had. Of course, they were all a mutation of a single form. 

Then again, that was standard with all the agencies.

"Yes?" Jones said to Clarke.

"Your orders," Clarke said handing him a dull green folder. Jones opened the folder and scanned the orders. They had to be the strangest orders he had ever received. 

Except for when the mainframe had ordered him to control a construct of a woman, Katrina, to interact with Greer.

"I will comply." Jones said it was his standard response. Clarke disappeared.  

He tapped a few keys ad brought his assistants on line. The assistants, though they had the appearance of agents were nothing more than physical technically minded .exe files.

Whenever he received an order that was more efficient to be done with more than one pair of hands he brought them on line. Essentially, that's what they were – his extra hands.

He was the 'tech' agent, they were just the techs.

One week later.

Jones walked into the conference room. Smith and Brown looked up from their accustomed seats. He was the only one who knew the reason why they were there.

"The new agent will be here soon," he said.

The other agents were doubtful, this was the first they had heard of it. "Why didn't you inform us?" Smith asked.

"Orders from Clarke," he responded as he sat down in his own seat.

Orders they could understand. Orders were everything to an agent, at least in theory they were. 

They waited in silence for five minutes for the new agent to arrive. Finally they heard the light sound of a single pair of feet walking up the hall. The doorknob twisted and the new agent walked in.

Smith caught his breath and smiled to himself.

It was Stef. 


	6. The Dark Side: Chapter Six

**Title: **The Dark Side: Chapter Six

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2039****

**Please Read and Review.**

He simply couldn't believe it. He had given up hope of ever seeing her again. He didn't risk a broader smile, in the presence of Brown and Jones that was never a good idea.

Some small part of him knew she would be back. He hadn't lost her.

He just hoped it wasn't a glitch.

He suppressed the urge to run over to her, just to see if she was real or not. He stood, and went to walk over to her, just to shake her hand – it was acceptable agent behavior and at the same time it would confirm her reality.

He would have done that if she hadn't spoken. 

"Agent Mimosa reporting as ordered sir," she said to Jones.

Smith stopped, the voice was hers but not the tone or manner. His heart sank back down, it wasn't Stef. He wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Another part of him had already guessed it. It was Agent Mimosa without Stef. Whereas Mimosa had always been Stef first with the agent qualities added.

"How?" he asked Jones. If he hadn't said something he probably would have gone offline.

"Her backup code," he replied simply.

What? "Mimosa didn't have a backup code."

"No. Not a complete backup. Just her agent traits." Jones said, acknowledging the fact that Stef had had two sides and this copy only had one. The wrong one in Smith's opinion.

He felt sick; the thing in front of him with his friend's face was an abomination. It was worse than her being dead.

Mimosa stood as still as a statue at attention, she had all the rigor of a well-trained soldier. Behind her dark sunglasses her eyes didn't even blink. She was just a soldier.

Smith was shaken from his thoughts when his earpiece crackled to life. 

Rebels. 

For once in his existence he was glad of them, at least they got him away from her. Smith turned away from the atrocity and shifted away.

There were two rebels running for an exit. That was all the report said. The others shifted to fight the ones who weren't heading for the exit yet, the ones that had been left behind. Shifting from one floor to the next he finally heard the phone ringing on the seventh floor.

He went into the room and waited for the humans to run to their doom.

The door was slammed open, a boy, no more than nineteen with shock-red hair skidded to a stop when he saw Smith. 

He turned his head to his companion who hadn't reached the door yet. "Run!" he screamed at his friend.

"What is it?" he heard a female voice say. A beautifully familiar voice.

"Agent!" he screamed as he balled his fists.

"Stevie it's just me," Smith said as he lowered his weapon. The boy's eyes almost fell out of his head.

Stevie shoved past her friend and ran over to her dad. "Hurry Powder," she said indicating to the phone.

Still blinking in shock he numbly picked up the phone and pressed his head but not before muttering 'I thought you were joking.'

The phone dropped to the floor as he left. Stevie replaced it and waited for it to ring again.

"I don't want to fight this war but they don't give me a choice dad." She said in a voice that was well beyond her years. 

He hated that his daughter had to become a solider. Damn humanity. 

"Just be careful," he said as she picked up the ringing phone and disappeared.

He was going to lose her one day and there was nothing he could do about it. One day everyone he had cared about would be gone. Fifty percent of them already were.

After she left he shot the phone. 

One day this trick would fail them or she would get caught in crossfire. He didn't know what he was going to do the day that happened.

At the moment he didn't want to think about it.

He returned to Stef's apartment and opened the most recent journal.

Dear Diary, just thought I'd give it a change. Or do you prefer 'journal'? 

_I don't know why I bother talking to you like a person. You have less personality than a brick wall._

_Something really weird happened today. Some driver swerved onto the curb, he almost hit me but I jumped out of the way. Yeah, jumped out of the way of a speeding car._

_Neat huh? I thought so. _

_But that brings up something I've been thinking about lately. I found this weird message on a board once that said 'what is the matrix?' I wonder what that means. Somehow I think the answer is important._

_I need to find that answer. I will find out what the matrix is._

_I have a feeling that that day will be one to remember._

_That day will affect the rest of my life._

Smith allowed himself a small smile. Even at the time this entry was written she was aware of the matrix at some level. It was how she had jumped out of the way of the car and had avoided getting a broken arm when she had been seven.

It was his fault.

She had met him as a small child, he wondered what would have happened if he had erased the memories of the encounter like he had done with her mother and aunt.

She would have died a lot sooner that was for sure. He would have killed her without even considering making her a recruit.

Not in so many words that made him seem human but rather with actions Smith had the fake Mimosa removed from his jurisdiction.  

As a new agent she needed to take her orders directly from one of the other agents. Stef had taken his orders from him but he refused to look after the new agent.

Jones was too busy with Greer, investigating his ability and he had basically taken over from Smith with no problem. So that only left Brown.

Mimosa walked in her precise, calculated gait to the door of Brown's office. She rapped three times on the door and awaited a response.

"Yes Agent Mimosa?" Brown responded, looking down at the soldier in front of him. He could hardly believe that the traits the new Mimosa showed had actually been hidden in the waste of time human-agent that had existed before.

All the time hidden in her sarcastic persona there had lived a solider. The kind of person that Brown often recruited.  

Stef Mimosa had brought chaos to order. Agent Mimosa was the essence of orders. She hadn't been online long enough to do anything other than follow them. And she followed them to the letter.

"Agent Smith requests that you now give out my orders as he too busy to do the job," she replied simply as she always did.

"I will comply," Brown said. Combat agents always needed all the soldiers they could control.

*****

Smith leant back in his chair while he contemplated the last few weeks.

The few weeks that Agent Mimosa had been online.

He felt ill every time he looked at the abomination that wore his friend's skin. The past few weeks had been bad enough, at least he had given her over to Brown so he didn't have to deal with her as much. 

Still, it had only been weeks. He didn't know how he was going to get through years like this.

Agents were, at least in theory, immortal. This was not to say that the same consciousness would last through that entire existence but as long as there was a backup of the code their physical form would remain.

All that mattered were the number of agents. The number to fight the rebels, the war was all that mattered to the mainframe. The pointless war with the humans.

There had been too many victims. On both sides, not that he cared about the rebel's losses he did not forget about them. Recruits typically did not live more than a few months. 

His daughter had been a victim of a war she shouldn't even have to learn about. Now she lived in the blasted wasteland that was the real world. She would live there until the end of her days and they would never be together again.

He felt a stab of pain. That was a fact that killed him, knowing that one day she would die, whether by the war or just old age one day she would cease to exist and there as nothing he could do about it.

He had been heartbroken when she had left the Matrix. He hadn't known what to feel or how to describe it but Stef had helped him. She had lost people; she knew what it was like.

What he had felt then was no different to what he was feeling now. 

How was he supposed to go through the rest of existence without either of the only two people who had ever meant anything to him?

The little things, that's what his files said humans missed of friend and/or family members who had died. For the first time he understood that.

He sighed, it just wasn't fair.

*****

Brown was impressed with his new…lieutenant…not that he would ever tell her that. Agent Mimosa was a more efficient solider than his other two colleagues put together.

She was silent and deadly. The perfect weapon that didn't speak unless ordered to and displayed less emotion than he did.

Perfect.

He had never used that word to describe anything before but the word fitted her like a glove. 

As an experiment he had asked her to spar with him. Just as a test of her skills. They had reached a stalemate when after half an hour neither had the advantage or clear position to win.

He had even stopped looking at humans as recruit possibilities. As long as he had Mimosa at his side that was all he needed.

*****

At one am the next night Smith finished reading the last of Stef's diaries. She was far more complex than he had stupidly never given her credit before. 

While reading each of the words in her easy to understand writing he had expected her to walk in, snatch the book from his hand and smack him over the head with it.

Not that that would happen but he wished it could.

He chided himself and tried to organize his thoughts. He couldn't go on forever dwelling on the past. He just couldn't, he would have to get over it.

It could be dangerous if he didn't. If he was observed acting with emotions and seemed compromised by those emotions then the mainframe may choose to delete or recompile him. 

*****

Mimosa stood in what approached nearly stand-by mode, something that she could do that none of the other agents could, as there was nothing more to her programming than the directive to follow orders. The other agents had consciousness while she was only sentient. There was a difference, subtle but existent. She only did what she was told. Nothing more.

She needed orders. Without them she was nothing.

She didn't have any assigned tasks like the others did. Smith oversaw the running of the facility. Jones did his job by searching for anomalies and correcting technological problems. Brown formulated new and more efficient ways of getting at the rebels.

Brown was her direct superior. He hadn't been originally but Smith had her removed from his jurisdiction without informing her why. He was in charge and the last thing she would ever do was question orders.

*****

The new Mimosa was something that Jonas hadn't counted on. The mainframe could shock him sometimes; his artificially intelligent machine mainframe was really intelligent – it had, after all, come up with the agents.

As for the real Stef, he had lost track of her. If some part of her was left in the code, he couldn't see it at the moment but with a small search he could easily locate it.

He decided against looking for her disseminated code, whatever was left of it.


	7. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter One

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter One

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2281****

**Please Read and Review.**

The fight in the Agency corridor had been nothing less than brutal. Stef had merely been a passenger in her body, there was something left of Whitman inside of her that was driving all of her actions.

Though she had meant some of what she had said she had had no desire to kill them, the glitch had been enough to haunt her memories forever. 

But it was going to happen again and this time it wasn't an illusion. They were going to die. After that maybe she could finally rest, after her enemies fell she could relax.

But they weren't her enemies, they were Whitman's enemies but at the moment they were one. Two minds in one body and Carol's dark side had taken her over. After the agents were dead she was sure that most of the thoughts would leave her alone.

The power she had was intoxicating. The power Whitman had shown her that she had in the glitch was wonderful, her predecessor had shown her that she was a force to be reckoned with and not ignored. She was confident that she could take them all down.

Overconfidence had been one factor in her losing the fight but there had been one other factor. She had seriously underestimated one of them.

What code had Smith initiated? Whatever it was she knew it couldn't be good for her.

She had started to approach the agents, to kill them but then Greer had shown up. The cold and aloof recruit. How fun it had been to kill him in the glitch. It had been interesting to discover that it only took two fingers to kill a person.

She was going to puncture his heart again, it wasn't a technique that she had used before but she was sure it was going to become a favorite. To actually feel it stop beating was a feeling unlike any other.

Greer had gotten away but she wasn't going to let the agents off as easily.

Come and get me boys.

After Smith spoke the second code word she stopped for a second as part of the command locked into place. As she stopped she had time to ponder just how many there were. That second that she stopped was the break they needed.

The three true agents charged at her. The sight of three agents coming at you would have most cowering for their lives or peeing their pants in fear. Anyone but her that was, she leered and ran at them.

She leapt high into the air and kicked Jones in the side of his head. Before she could land Brown caught a hold of her other leg and swung her forcefully down to the ground.

Jumping back up onto her feet she caught a right hook fair in the face. Her sunglasses went flying. Stumbling for a few seconds from the strength of the blow she went on the defense.

A high kick from the tech agent of all people sent her barreling back into Brown. The combat agent caught her and held her tightly as Smith delivered a barrage of super quick punches to her gut.

Jumping on the spot she smashed both of her feet into Smith's chest and kicked off. The force sent up her over Brown, the sudden move him let go. Free of him she couldn't get her footing and she slipped to the ground.

Pushing herself to her feet with both of her hands she started to reconsider her position. Maybe she couldn't win. Maybe they were just too strong to win against.

But she couldn't give up now. She couldn't lose. If she lost she was going to die. If she stopped fighting back they wouldn't care, she was a threat and they destroyed threats. She could not give up.

Smith said another code word and she froze for a second.

In that second time seemed to slow for her. Blinking ever so slowly she saw Brown draw back his fist and smash it into her face. The impact probably had a few G-forces behind it.

Had she been a human it would have killed her.

But then again, if she had been human she wouldn't be in this mess right now.

The force sent her spinning back into the wall. She struggled to free herself from the wall but she was wedged deep within it. She felt herself being ripped angrily from it. Jones and Brown pulled her from it and pinned her against the next section of the wall.

They had won.

And they weren't taking any more chances. She was not getting any more opportunities. It was the end for her. She tried to pull herself free from their grips but they were immovable. She wasn't going anywhere and they were going to see to that.

They had won and she had lost. She hadn't expected that.

But they were far from finished with her. Smith was still speaking code words, disjointed, meaningless words. As she struggled to free herself some part of her deep inside sparked with recognition, she crushed those annoying thoughts as she tried to rip herself from their grips.

_Let me at them_, she thought. _Just me at them once more and I know I'll kill them this time._

After one final look he spoke the final code word. She stopped struggling; she could feel something happening to her. Something that wasn't very good.

The agents pinning her against the wall felt her stop struggling, in response they loosened their grips by a barely perceptible fraction. They wouldn't have done that unless she was no longer a danger.

Oh no.

She saw her skin start to glow an unnatural, electronic green. Desert-like cracks appeared all over her skin. 

She exploded.

As she shattered apart she felt whatever had been left of Whitman leave her. It was jumping ship to avoid its destruction. But it was too late for Stef; she became herself again as she blew apart.

She was going to die and she doubted that even Jonas, who was to put it basically, _god_, could bring her back from where she was going to go.

The world spun giddily around her. Her last perceptions of the world could be likened to an out-of-control roller coaster. Bright, spinning and dizzy.

So this is what death was.

Death was a little different for Stef Mimosa than it was for most people and programs. The fact that she died twice before may have had something to do with it.  

But she had no safety net this time. There would be no rescue; there was no deliverance from her fate.

Stef had simple thoughts of regret and goodbyes as her conscious thoughts fell away.

An unknown amount of time later she felt herself start to wake up once more.

_Hold on one goddamn minute. _Stef thought. _Why the hell am I waking up?_ She was supposed to be dead. 

Jonas. 

How dare he play with her like this? Life, death, reality, fiction. How dare he?

As she opened her eyes she realized that she wasn't in Jonas' lab or even Jones' tech lab at the Agency. She was somewhere that was much more familiar. She was in her old bedroom.

Her childhood bedroom.

She looked down at herself; judging from her body she was around six years old again. What the hell was going on? The last sixteen years of her life couldn't have been some kind of dream could they? She didn't even want to think if she would wish for that as the door of her room opened.

She looked up to see someone framed by the hallway light. Someone who now only existed in her memories.

Her mother.

She was alive. How…?

"Stephanie? Did you have a nightmare?" Emma asked her daughter, her voice full of worry.

"Mum?" Stef asked of the woman as she started to cry.

"Stef what's wrong?" she asked as she sat on the bed beside her and enveloped her with her gentle arms. Stef hugged her back as her tears streamed down her face. All of her defenses were down.

"Was it a bad nightmare?"

No. This wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

"This isn't real. No matter how much I want it to be real it's not."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is a dream, or a glitch, or something. I'm going to wake up soon and you'll be gone again."

Emma cupped her daughter's small face in her hands and looked at her blue eyes. "I'm here now. Isn't that all that matters?"

"I wish it was. There have been so many times that I have needed you and you weren't there for me."

"I love you Stef. That's all that's important."

If Jonas had hit the 'delete' button on the server and had destroyed everything that she had ever known Stef would have died happy. No matter how many times she had tried she had never been able to recall her mother saying 'I love you.' She had seen it in summoned up memories in the memory-editing program but it was never the same as being able to remember it on her own.

Now she could. 

Emma smiled at her. Stef felt that this was the single most perfect moment in her life. If only it could last forever. "I love you too mum."

Sadly, but not surprisingly, her mother dissipated. Until the shadow that was left disappeared from her sight. She was no more.

Suddenly, she was no more six years old, she was twenty-two again. But instead of the suit she had died in she was wearing her old jeans, a dark blue tee shirt and a denim jacket. It was what she had always thought of as her 'default' outfit.

*****

"Oh there you are," Jonas mumbled to the screen in front of him. He knew that if there had been enough of her left to be reconstituted that it would show up sooner or later.

Instead of the search that would have revealed that fact hours ago, he had instead sped up the world so that it passed by at a week an hour and written a subroutine for another agent.

He had given the Paris combat agent a piece of programming that allowed him to get drunk. The Parisian agent had tried to write it himself several times but had failed each time.

It would be interesting to see what the mainframe would think of a drunken agent.

He looked back to the screen that was calibrated just to show Stef and her surrounding environment. He smiled to himself; something interesting was about to happen.

*****

Stef waited for whatever was to come next. What actually happened was the last thing she had ever expected. A bright light came on in the semi-darkness. A casually dressed man walked over to her.

"Hello," she started, more confused than ever.

"Well? How did you like it? What did you think? Did I get the details right?"

What!? "You did that? You created that memory?"

"Well, yes and no. It wasn't a memory per se but rather a type of fantasy. But I was the one who orchestrated its reality but the idea came from you."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Me? I'm the Grim Reaper."

He wasn't anyone's idea of what the Grim Reaper would look like. In fact he wasn't even carrying a scythe. He looked more like Al from Quantum Leap than the Grim Reaper.

"No you aren't."

A second later a much more traditional Death appeared. Stef blinked as he wielded his scythe with absolute precision. "Is this what you expected?" he asked in a deep, hollow voice.   

Ok, maybe he had some reality. "Yeah. Black robes and a skull for a head. Yep, that's what I expected."

He clicked his skeletal fingers and resumed his normal appearance. "I think the robes are quite passé by now don't you?"

"Sure – whatever." Was this program insane or something?

"I bet you're wondering what we're here for?"

"Actually I was thinking about the price of Microsoft stocks. Of course I'm wondering what I'm doing talking to the Grim Reaper."

"You can call me whatever you want. It's not important. What is important is the choice that you have to make now."

"The Choice. You remind me of Morpheus, red pill or blue pill. What's the choice?"

The Grim Reaper did not like being compared to a rebel. He decided to cut to the chase. "Death or exile."

"What's an exile?"

"An exile is a rogue program that chooses to hide within the system instead of choosing to die. Exiles can be powerful and dangerous but above all else they are hunted."

"I don't understand."

"No, of course you don't. It's the combat agents that deal with us. Agents have two key directives. Kill rebels and kill exiles. Exiles are usually higher on the priority list than any rebel as a matter of fact."

"But I was an agent and I didn't know about exiles."

"No doubt they would have got around to explaining it to you eventually. But any of your former colleagues would rather dispose of you than any rebel." So that was what Brown did in his spare time. Hunted exiles, well that made sense at least.

"But…"

"Trust me kid. We are not as numerous as we once were." She was silent for a minute, taking all of it in.

"Well, what is it going to be? Death or exile?"

Stef swallowed but there was no real choice, she wasn't ready to die just yet.

"I choose to be an exile." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hey readers, this is the last chapter I will be uploading for about a week or so, I have to completely rewrite this part so it all fits in while deleting a couple of unnecessary subplots which I can save for a future fic.

C Ya 


	8. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Two

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Two

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1944****

**Notes:** Hey, from now on I've got some Reloaded references coming up simply because the next few chapters deal with exiles. 

Ok, this chapter didn't need that much of a rewrite, just the last third so I'm uploading it earlier than what I thought.

Yes Olafur – Mero and the Twins will show up. 

**Please Read and Review.**

"I choose to be an exile," the words resonated around her as everything exploded in a bright white light.

The next thing she saw was a floor rushing up to meet her. With a painful thud she landed on the linoleum. Pushing herself up onto her knees she rubbed her nose. It hurt, it really hurt.

Agents don't feel pain as humans do, they feel it slightly deadened, unless they are fighting another program that is, but her nose was hurting as if she was human again. 

She wasn't human again was she?

She heard feet squeaking on the linoleum; she stood and saw an Asian man in long black pants and a white jacket looking down at her.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Oh yeah. She wasn't supposed to be there. Umm…

"Sorry, I'm kind of lost."

"Who are you?"

"Stef Mimosa. Agent Mimosa." Wait a minute. "Just Stef, I'm not an agent anymore."

"Who is it Seraph?" 

"I do not know." He said to the old woman who entered the room.

"Well hello," she said kindly.

"If you'll point out the door I'll be leaving. Sorry."

"You don't need to leave just yet. There are a few things you need to know first."

"I didn't mean to trespass. Please don't call the cops."

"I'm not going to call the police child. I would never send another exile to the authorities."

"Another?"

"We are also exiles." She said indicating to herself and the man named Seraph.

"Oh, ok. Who are you?"

"Most call me the Oracle."

"The Oracle? I've heard of you. You help the humans."

"Well, it that really that hard to understand?"

"Yeah – it is. Less than an hour ago I was an agent." 

"It's been much more than an hour. It's been weeks; I can see it in your code. Whatever way they deleted you apparently wasn't effective enough; there was enough of you to be put back together. You had to be reassembled so you could make the choice."

The Choice. That sounded important.

"The choice whether to live or to die?"

"Yes, that choice. Glad to see you're with me this far." The oven behind Stef pinged. The Oracle put an oven mitt on her wrinkled hand and pulled a tray of cookies out. Carefully lifting each off with a spatula she put them onto a round robin's-egg blue plate. 

"Would you like a cookie Seraph?" The stoic exile nodded and selected one of the choc-chip cookies, he bowed and left the room.

"You can have one as well."

"I don't eat."

"Of course you do child, have a cookie."

"I'm not a child. Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

"I can boast all I want about being the oldest program in existence. Can you do the same?" The old lady said flippantly. 

"No." Stef said as she accepted the cookie.

"I call everyone 'child' it's just what I do. I help all the kids I can, even the ones who aren't as young as you," she said with a nod to the door Seraph had disappeared through. 

"What's his deal?"

"Just another lost exile. I guide them all I can, if they want my help that is. But I can never say that I've helped a vampire…"

"Vampire?" Stef interrupted.

"You know all the stories about ghosts, aliens, bigfeet, vampires and angels? They're all true, in one fashion or another all they are all exiles."

"All of them?"

"Well, except those made up by drunks."

"So who do I go haunt?"

"No one, you just have to make a living for yourself."

"But being an agent was the only thing I was ever good at."

"I'm sure you can find something else. Just one piece of advice, don't draw attention to yourself, we are a hunted breed – they won't stop until they have wiped us all out."

"Ok."

"You have to be careful of some of the ones like us. Some of the exiles are very powerful and very dangerous when they choose to be."

*****

Carol screamed as she died again. This was it, there weren't going to be any more chances for her. She was really going to die this time.

Feeling pain like nothing she had ever heard before she screamed silently. Maybe this was what it felt like when she had killed her enemies. 

But they had deserved what they got, she didn't.

She hadn't done anything wrong; everyone else was just against her.

As her skull felt like it was splitting in two whatever she could perceive went white. An unknown amount of time later she woke up in a lab.

She pushed herself to her feet. She looked down at herself, thank god – she wasn't wearing that ugly suit anymore. Agents didn't have any sense of fashion or good taste in clothes. She was in tight black pants and a form hugging red shirt. A thin gold chain hung around her neck.

She was beautiful.

She of course knew that she was beautiful. Frankly, she was drop dead gorgeous, looks and a body that any model would desire. And it was natural, all of it – unlike some others who spent thousands aspiring to have what she had been given.

But it had been hidden from the world behind that god-awful suit that those jerks had forced her to wear. 

There was a man looking at him, though she should have been thinking about where she was and who he was all that was on her mind was how handsome he was.

"Hello," she purred at him. He was about six feet tall, strong handsome features and light brown hair. 

Jonas smiled at her. "It's lovely to meet you at last Carol."

"You know who I am?"

"I should, I've watched you for many years."

"Who are you?"

"Would you like to sit? I have many things to explain to you."

*****

Stef walked down the dark street. With the Oracle's advice she wouldn't draw attention to herself but she had no idea what to do.

She could always go back to her normal life, just live out her existence as a human. 

But for the last few months of her life before she had been recruited had been spent trying to find out what the Matrix was. She couldn't even remember what her life had been like before that.

She could hear music from the depths of a dark alley so she decided to follow it. She expected to find a club; at least there she could forget about the world for a while. But instead of a club she found one lone figure with a radio spray painting the wall with bright blue paint.

He was a hippy.

That much was obvious from his clothes. Tied dyed shirt and pants, a fringed brown vest with beads and peace symbols hanging around his neck. His hair was beach blond and eighties-style sunglasses hung around the bottom of his nose.

He pushed his blue sunglasses back up as he bobbed in time with the music.

"Hey sister," he said as he looked up Stef.

"Hi." Had he fallen through some sort of time rift? He was well and truly stuck in the sixties.

"Well, what do you think?" he said as he stepped back and waited for her approval of his latest work. Scrawled among images of rain clouds were the words, 'programs are people too.'

"Um…I think it's very true." Could he be…? "Are you an exile?"

"Yeah little sister, right on. Got it in one? You just join the club?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

"Cool. Want to crash at my place?"

"What?"

"Someone has to show you around. World isn't the same for us as it is for them. Either of them – humans or other programs. It's completely different. Want some help?"

"From the program that fashion forgot?" Stef slapped herself. "Sorry, that was kind of harsh."

"Yeah it was. I'm upset." He pouted for about three seconds. "Ok, I'm over it. I'm Hummer, what's your name?"

"Stef."

"Stef? What kind of name is that for a program? I'm Hummer because I was designed to look after humming birds. Were you in charge of Stef birds? Or is there Stef bugs?"

She chuckled; it released a lot of tension. "No. It's a long story I can tell you later."

"Dude, I'm with that."

"Are you aware that you switch between sixties' slang and eighties' words? Or mix them in the same sentence?"

"Well – I use what works." He turned to the building next to him and pulled a key on a string from his pocket.

"You live in there?"

"You haven't seen the back doors? Man, you've missed out – come and see." He opened the door and stepped in. Stef found herself in a bright white corridor, seemingly endless and every foot there was another door.

"What the hell is this place?"

"Back doors to places in the Matrix. Escape routes and secret tunnels. We have our own tricks…ex-agent."

"How could you tell?" She wasn't in her suit, and she hadn't said anything to give herself away.

"I peeked into your code. Nice software. More advanced than most I've seen. Then again, new programs, new codes."

He opened another door. She walked into a typical bachelor's pad. Posters of bands adorned the walls and neon lighting lit the rooms in strange colors.

"Well?" he asked.

"It's cool."

"Glad you think so."

Stef's stomach rumbled. 

She was hungry.

After all this time it was a quite unusual feeling. Hummer looked down at the phone. "What kind of pizza you like?" he said as he left to rummage through his kitchen drawer for a discount voucher.

"Hawaiian, but with no pineapple."

"Dude, me too."

"Cool."

"No pretty kitty, it's ultra-cool."

"Pretty…kitty?" she said questioning. She had never had such a strange nickname.

"All my nicks rhyme. It sounds awesome."

"Can I have an example of another?"

"Tear bear, Eviee-cd, Hock choc…I have a few others."

"Are they all exiles?"

"And a goldfish. Hock choc was my goldfish. He's in the big bowl in the sky now."

"There is no heaven. Trust me on that."

"How do you know?"

"I know Hummer. I've met the grim reaper; I've died so many times I've lost count. There is nothing beyond the technology."

Hummer was uncharacteristically silent, hinting to the fact that there was more to him than the surfer-hippy image he exuded. "No one knows what lies beyond here. You're still here so who says what lies elsewhere?"

"I've met this world's grim reaper."

"Charlie? He's my poker partner, that's just a title – he keeps a record of new and old exiles."

"Ok. I'm going to have to get used to how this side of the world works."

"In any case it's thirty minutes for pizza." He lifted the handset of the cordless phone and started to dial the pizza place's number.

There were two sharp knocks on the door. "Who's that?" Stef asked Hummer. 

"I don't know," he said seriously. "I wasn't expecting anyone." 

"I'll get it," she said and walked toward the door.

As she opened the door every fiber of her being was hoping that it was Smith saying that it was a mistake. That she could come back.

Hummer was cool but she didn't belong there.

The faces that greeted her were far from Agent, though they were wearing sunglasses. Stef looked up at the two albinos. They both skin like a vampire, pure pasty white. Dark sunglasses and dreadlocks. 

Identical twins.

And they definitely weren't human.

"Are you the new exile?" Twin One asked her.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is completely AU so there is no interaction with the Reloaded plot. Just its characters.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

And here I would just like to say thank you to all of my regular reviewers. You people make my day when I open my inbox and find review alerts in there.

* Ruse BIG THANKS. Hey people, go read Mimic. And anything else written by her. 

* Agent Daidouji. Again, another recommended author. Obsidian is a cool story.

* T,Lorie. Finally a reviewer from my own country. For those of you who don't know. I am Australian. 

* Lauren K. One of my best friends on the Internet. If it weren't for you I probably wouldn't have continued to write matrix fics. That would have meant no Agents series. What a terrible thought.  

* Jennifer. Always glad to hear from you.

* Arabwel. 

* And always, Overlord Mordax. The other Agents writer. The person who gave birth to Greer and gave Jones a personality. And the series art. Anyone who hasn't seen the art go to her bio page and follow the link. 

* And anyone else I have forgotten. It is 10pm so forgive me.


	9. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Three

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Three

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2074****

**Notes: **émigré is French I think and came up as a synonym for exile.     

He, he, he this is the longest update that you've had to wait for. Don't worry; I'm burning out my typing fingers getting the rest done. The damn thing is that I have written a few chapter for right near the, the climax and know how the ending is going to be but I am stumbling over the next few chapters; trying to cut out a bunch of stuff I had with Mero and the twins from the original version of this story (don't worry it was all crap – this is much better) and trying to streamline it as much as possible so it can end quickly but meaningfully. 

There is a reason I am doing this. Two words. Overlord Mordax. She can't post her new fic till this finishes and I've read it and it's bloody brilliant. 

**Please Read and Review.**

"Yeah." She said to the albino man. "I'm the new exile."

The second one spoke up. "Our boss wants to talk to you." They were British, very British. But the accent wasn't annoying as some she had heard.

"Who's your boss and what's he want with me?"

"The Merovingian and he has a proposal for you. A chance he gives all exiles if they want it." One replied.

"What type of chance?"

"He would prefer to tell you himself. Come with us." Two said.

Stef stole a glance back to Hummer. He was in serious mode, just staring at the twins. He shook his head lightly to the side. Closing the door in their faces she walked back over to him.

"Who are they are who is that Mero…guy?"

"A very dangerous exile. He has a lot of power, he probably wants you to work for him."

"Well it's nice of him to offer me a job."

"He's a dangerous man."

"I'll see what he has to say."

"Fine," Hummer flopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV. Pressing play, Stef walked out to the twins as the Brady Bunch theme music started.

"So where is this guy?" she asked as she followed them.

"Not far," One said. 

Two slid a key into one of the door locks and opened it. She followed him through as One shut the door behind them. They walked through a large kitchen and into an elegant dining room. 

"Welcome Stephanie," a very French man said as they approached a long table. The twins went to smaller, side table and started to smoke. Several others sat at another table on the other side.

"You're The Merovingian?"

"But of course. Please sit."

Pulling the chair out she sat down, a pretty lady sat at his right, wearing a tight white dress and an expression which somehow managed to seem bored and interest at the same time. "This is Persephone," he said dismissively, "she's my wife."

"Nice to meet you. You said you had a job for me?"

"We can get down to business later. First we drink." As if on cue, a waiter brought over a bottle of wine. It had a strong smell so Stef crinkled her nose in reaction. 

"Could I have something else?"

"This is the finest wine in this establishment. I know, I've drunk half the stock myself."

"It's not my thing."

He clicked his tongue. "Fine, what would you prefer?"

She looked up at the waiter. "Sparkle." He nodded and walked back off toward the bar.

"And that would be what?"

"Vodka, orange juice, one ice cube and any random alcohol the bartender chooses. There's a variation called 'deadly girl' all you do it set it alight." 

"And you prefer that over fine wine, why?"

"It's the first drink I had."

"So sentimental."

"Me? You've got to be kidding right? I'm a cold-blooded killer. Hardly a day goes by when I don't end someone's life."

"You may be good for the job yet."

"What is it?"

He sighed, "Fine down to business. I am powerful, I'm sure you can see that. I…have everything I want and can have anything I desire. What I desire at the moment, from you is protection. I can never have too many bodyguards," he gestured to the side tables. "They are the dangerous and the deadly and they work for me. I'd like you to do the same."

"What do I get in return?"

"Whatever you want. Anything – within reason – that I can give you. How about a big, fat paycheck? That's what people care about it isn't it? Money, money, money."

"Not everyone."

"Why not? Money, and information, is everything. It can buy you anything you want."

She wanted to say: 'can you put me back into the system Mero? Can anyone do that?' but what she really said was "Fine. You've got yourself a bodyguard."

He smiled in a slightly unsettling manner. "Excellent." She smiled and accepted her drink from the waiter. "Welcome to the kingdom of the exiles."

"Isn't that kind of theatrical?"

"Life's a stage."

"Life is a performance, there is no practice and no second take." She retorted.

"Touché my little émigré."

*****

Brown shot the rebel he was fighting with and did something he had never done before. He stopped fighting.

But he had a good reason. 

He was watching Mimosa fight.

The new agent was fighting two rebels at once with a liquid, feline grace. All of her moves were calculated and there was no wasted movement.

A dancer.

That's what his files said, when he referenced similar movement, or an exhibiting martial artist. 

How could this perfect agent have lived inside that waste of time experiment that had existed before? If had known about this side of Mimosa he would have initiated the shatter command months ago.

Jumping and twirling in midair she kicked the last rebel fair in the face and his head whipped around with such force that the audible snap was heard.

Agent Brown liked that sound.

Meanwhile, a few allies over, Smith had been chasing another rebel. He had shot the boy and was now following a sound toward the end of the alley. 

Seeing it wasn't a rebel, he put his gun away.

He watched the badly dressed man spray painting on the wall. "Exile," he spat, it was Brown's job to deal with them, not his but since he was there.

Hummer jumped around. "Oh shit," he dropped the can of green paint and stood up. 

"Aren't you going to run?"

"Why bother, you'd get me anyway. What do you think?" he said jerking his thumb at the wall. 

Smith looked at the wall. 

Programs are people too.

"You wrote that?"

"Came up with it myself dude. Well?"

"Get out of my sight."

Taking his chance, he pulled his key out and jammed it into the door behind him. 

Smith didn't have the heart to kill the person who had come up with that saying. Turning away, he walked from the alley.

Hummer walked down the hall of backdoors and saw Stef waiting there.

"Hey kitty what you doing back here?"

"Mero gave me a job. He says I start tomorrow, could I still crash here tonight?"

"I've got a spare room whenever you want, when Charlie stays over though one of you has to have the couch."

"It's only tonight."

Hummer opened the door and turned on the light. "I just ran into one of your buddies."

"An agent?" he nodded. "Which one?"

"How am I supposed to know? They all look the same."

"How naïve."

"Guilty as insulted."

"I'm not trying to insult you Hummer, really I'm not. It's just what I do."

"Like working for the Merovingian?"

"What you got against him? He seems ok except that that fake French accent of his." 

"I hate him cause Charlie hates him. All the exiles that have ever gone near him have never been heard of again. He has many enemies and his bodyguards have to fight to the death – it's in their contracts."

"Well, it's not like I have a choice or something."

"You could just stay here. Get a job at McDonald's or something, haven't you had enough of fighting?" Hummer argued as he lit a cigarette. 

"How deep did you look into my code?"

"Deep enough. What's so wrong with non-violence?"

"It's just…that's not who I am anymore." She was silent for a few minutes. "How does an exile get reconnected?"

"That's not a funny joke," Hummer said as he blew a smoke ring.

"I wasn't joking Hummer. I want to go home."

"You can't. You can't ever go back – you even try and you'll die." He paused for a few seconds. "Hey that rhymes."

"I don't care. I had a virus, that's why I was deleted. I don't have it anymore."

"Agents don't get a second chance. You had better keep your former occupation to yourself around our kind if you want to fit in. You have no idea what agents can do to exiles. One was just going to kill me. I've seen them die kitty, it's not pretty."

"I'm sure I can guess."

"Well, you don't want to be on the receiving end. Agents are heartless bastards; they don't give you a chance. I've seen it far too many times."

"But, there is one…"

"Let me guess, one of them is your friend? And you think he won't kill you? Smoke something different, whatever you're on isn't letting you think straight, basic files – key directives. Hunt. Kill. Destroy."

"He wouldn't hurt me."

"There's the back door, key's in it. Go, go on kitty go home. I'll bury your corpse somewhere nice." His voice turned deadly serious. "If there is a corpse left."

"I'm going to take that chance." She said as she walked back out the door, Hummer was right on her tail. "Which door Hummer? Which one did you come out of?"

He paused for a second then pointed, "That one, I'll come with you."

"You don't have to."

"I'm coming." He inserted the key and turned it, opening it she ran out into the alley. Seeing someone leaving the end of the alley. Sprinting toward the person Hummer desperately tried to catch up. Hummer caught her as she was about to turn the corner.

She peeked around and saw Smith. "That's him, he won't hurt me."

"Don't be so sure," the hippy warned.

"Smith!" she called as Hummer clamped his hand over her mouth. 

"There's someone coming," he whispered.

Smith whipped his head around when he heard someone call his name. It couldn't be. Seeing Agent Mimosa he realized that it was just her.

"Yes agent?"

She was looking at herself. 

How could that be?

Stef stared the agent that wore her face. She just looked in horror at the deadness of the eyes behind the lenses of the standard sunglasses.

She had been replaced.

She had been forgotten about.

Why had she been replaced? 

She hadn't even known she had had a backup code. She had been told that she didn't have a backup code.

~ ~ "There isn't a backup copy of your code – you are the only copy."

Smith had lied to her but then again it hadn't been the first time. She had asked him if what had happened to her had ever happened before.

~ ~ "No. It's never happened before."

Agents were very good liars. Especially when you trusted them to tell the truth. How could she have been so stupid to trust him?

~ ~ "Agents don't trust Miss Mimosa."

Maybe he had never wanted to trust her; maybe he had just had no other choice once she had discovered that he was secretly more emotional than his counterparts. But she had trusted him.

Why had she trusted him? They had met because he was going to kill her, he had been going to kill her and yet she had joined his side of the war. She had agreed to fight for the machines.

Machines, programs, beings that by nature aren't trusting or make friends. Goddamn him. 

He had killed her but she had still trusted him, how blind she could be? Then, again she was just a stupid human.

No, she wasn't a human. Not anymore because of him.

No matter how much of Carol's dark side had been left in her she had still felt some of what she had said to the agents. Frankly she did feel like a freak, a person caught between worlds. 

Alone, that's what she was more than unique. She was alone. The kind of alone where you feel totally lost in a crowd. The kind of alone where everyday you feel like you're the last person on the planet.

She had never let it bother her before; she didn't know why it was getting to her now.

Still, she had thought she had meant something to Smith. Just enough that even after what she had done he wouldn't have replaced her with this fake.

Stef wanted to yell a variety of curses at Smith about everything from the fact that he had killed her, three times no less, to the fact that he had made her into an agent, for lying about Whitman, for accepting her dead-eyed replacement.

But instead she turned to Hummer and dejectedly nodded to the door. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hey people, now that I've finished semester one I'm on two weeks holiday so I have some time to type. I'm finishing this chapter at 10.52 pm and am starting on chap 4 now ok? 

One little side note, Mero's line 'kingdom of exiles' is a reference to what was the third part of this story, 1st is The Dark Side, 2nd is Dawn of Dusk, 3rd WAS going to be KoE but since I'm shortening this fic it will be renamed and used later.

Oh, for any and all future reference, me and Mordax…well me cause I started this series kind of have Brown and Jones mixed up. But by the time we realized it we didn't want to swap the names back around cause we had become comfortable with the way their names are.

Integral, just in case you didn't know, all the art is by Mordax, I have no artistic ability whatsoever but yeah, Well, send us your artwork, just send it to Stormhawk_1000@yahoo.com and i'll forward it to Mordax and we'll let you know ok? I'm sure we'll love it.  
  
C Ya


	10. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Four

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Four

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **3848

**Updated disclaimer:** Jonas = me. Edmund twins = Mordax.****

**Notes:** T,Lorie – I owe you for the idea at the beginning of this chapter. Although I already had an idea for where you suggested it, but it was too good to throw away and with a little late night inspiration it turned into a great way to start this chapter off.  

I'm going away for a week so don't expect any updates for at least that long ok?

Oh yeah – this is the longest chapter in his fic. 

My friends rock! Want to see one of my birthday presents? Go check out the art site (link is on Mordax's page) and look at the pic, I think I called the Best Agents pic, it's in color and it's got all the main characters (Smith, Stef, Greer, Jones, Brown) with a code background and it is so mad, cool, wicked, sweet and any other synonym you could think of. The rest of the art is cool, the chibis are cute J

**Please Read and Review.**

One month later.

"Do you even know who you are supposed to be?" Smith felt like asking the new agent. 

But no, she had no idea. 

Getting an idea, he shifted to a GCS room and required a copy of Mimosa's code. He was desperate but maybe it would work, maybe. Whatever the result was it had to be better than the…dead and flat fake that existed now.

It would be the closest thing to having her back that he would ever be able to have. 

"Any orders sir?" Mimosa asked him.

Not even bothering to shake his head he began a process of copying every memory from the last year into her, plus the one from her childhood. Every piece of information in her file and any insights into those cold hard facts that she had told him. 

The process was far from instantaneous but two hours later it was done. Feeling quite drained he stood from the control panel chair and looked over to her. 

Her posture was seemingly more relaxed but on closer inspection it revealed that it was nothing more than a pose. 

She forced herself to smile, "hi, any orders?"

"What's your name?"

"Mimosa. Agent Mimosa. Stephanie Mimosa. Stef," she said finally after running through all of her names, nicks and titles.

"And mine?"

"You don't know your own name?" Mimosa said. The wording was right but there was no joking tone behind it. 

"Why didn't this work?" he muttered. _Require, delete experiment._

One week later.

It was a very special day. December the twenty-third. His daughter's birthday. 

In actuality it had been the day the experiment had begun but even so, it was her birthday. Her first, or her sixteenth, depending on what memories you had. 

She _knew _she was sixteen, she had sixteen years worth of memories but on the other hand she had only truly been alive for a year.

That was to say that Stevie Smith had been alive for a year. He wished he could forget that she had originally been someone else's child, having another life that she could never remember because it wasn't part of her.

But on some level it was.

How Smith wished he could have been responsible in every part for her life, to have created her instead of just raising her. 

Then again, she had only supposed to have been an experiment, one month long and nothing more. Just another one of the mainframe's pointless experiments into humanity. 

But something had changed all that.

Her original family, the family that she had belonged to in her past life believed that she had died. Three teenagers had been chosen at random as they had to display at least some physical characteristics in common with their 'fathers' or else suspicions would have been raised.   

Damn it, she was his daughter, not someone else's.

Whatever life had been before the experiment didn't matter, Stevie was his.

Maybe whatever cosmic fate, if any, that ran the universe had seen this experiment coming, had always intended for her to be his, even if someone else minded her first.

Maybe that would explain why she had his eyes. 

Except she belonged to the realm of humanity now. Living among the rebels must be hell for her, but at least she was alive. 

It still surprised him that they had freed her, that they had rescued her from an otherwise inescapable fate. 

He missed her, was he doomed to lose everyone he cared about?

What would have if he had turned to the mainframe and pleaded his case to Clarke? Something to the tune of 'please don't kill my experiment' would it have spared her? Would she still be plugged in and safe away from the war?

No.

She'd be dead.

But some fiber was happy that things had turned out that way they had. She knew the truth and that was the one thing that every person deserved. 

Feeling quite claustrophobic in his office he stood and walked aimlessly around the very similar corridors of the Agency. Similar, they were the same, exactly the same. 

Pausing briefly by the door of the gym he saw the recruits had already started their Christmas celebrations. An extremely modest Christmas tree was standing among a pile of required presents that was taller than it was. 

If it was possible, the strict rules surrounding the recruits were slackened slightly around the holidays, not monitoring their activities and such. It wasn't because they were benevolent because of the special meanings of these days it was because if they constricted them in too much when every other year they had been allowed to go crazy then their loyalties may shift.

But there had been no recruits last Christmas, or indeed by large for a few months on end, except for one and he had been a traitor, a rebel who was still plugged in. 

And that wasn't because there hadn't been any suitable humans to recruit, dozens had been flagged as potentials. It was Mimosa's fault in fact. They had been so paranoid that she would snap like Whitman that they hadn't wanted to waste potential recruits if she decided to go on a killing spree. 

Walking on by the gym he realized that for the first time he had something he had something he wanted for Christmas. He wanted to be able to see his daughter, not for a few fleeting seconds while she was running for her life but for an hour at least, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was all right.

To see if she could forgive him for not telling her the truth earlier.

But people rarely got what they asked for. 

*****

Sitting alone in his lab Jonas watched the matrix, his world, and their 'real world' as they prepared battle plans, bought Christmas trees, prepared themselves to die in a war, and wished to be near their relatives. 

He was god.

Not an unrealistic statement because he had created their worlds, bought them to life, and kept them alive…well, online at the very least. Could pieces of programming be alive?

Carol seemed to think so.

He could, if he wanted, hear every wish, read every letter to Santa, and write a Santa program if he chose but was only going to answer one wish this time around. 

For a father wanting to see his daughter. 

A piece of programming could be a better father than a real person. He always shuddered, if only inside, when someone said 'father' 'dad' 'papa' or any word to the meaning of daddy. 

He still wore scars from where his father had beaten him. 

Matthew Jonas had been an alcoholic, a drunk, among many times and wasn't afraid to beat his son whenever his blood alcohol rose too far. 

But when he was sober, no one could possibly believe that Matthew Jonas, a pillar of society by anyone's standards could beat his son so whenever Arthur had gotten the courage to tell a friend or teacher he would get dismissed, they would think it was some rich brat's story.

One time, Matthew had thrown him down the stairs into the basement and locked the door. Unable to get out any other way, Arthur had explored the piles and piles of junk down there. 

One of those things had been an old computer. Sheesh, it was only a Pentium 5, probably belonged to his grandfather, but it did have game called SimCity2007 on it. 

In the space of a few minutes, the younger Jonas was hooked. A whole world for him to explore. A world where he could do anything to anyone and no one could do anything about it.

A place where he could be safe and in control. 

Unlike the real world.

And he loved the power it gave him.

From that day forth, he would always hide down there so his father couldn't find him. Immersing himself deeper and deeper into that world. 

But he wanted more.

Buying himself the newest SimCity for his own computer, which was ten times as fast as the relic in the basement he found that it was much the same setup, it still wasn't good enough.  

Abandoning the faster processing power and the enhanced graphics he banished himself more and more to the basement.

He was addicted to the darkness. Wrapped in the low light he felt safe and protected, like a blanket a child hides under. At fourteen, he still felt like a child. Especially around his father.

 When he had been sixteen, his father had gotten remarried. Nothing more than a trophy wife, pretty as a picture, because she had asked the surgeons to make her look that way. 

And to that happy house she brought him a part-time brother from an earlier marriage. Victor was a few years older than Arthur but then again, he had always felt a little younger than the rest of the sixteen year olds. He looked up to Victor; he had always wanted someone older, and cooler to be around. 

Victor was nice enough to him when he was around but spent at least three times the amount of time on the phone to his friends than he did around Arthur.

One day, Matthew and Opal had gone out to lunch leaving the boys alone. Arthur had gone outside to play on his HoverBoard, based on a design from some ancient movie it wasn't as advanced as the effect but it worked in much the same fashion.

Placing a magnetic strip along the ground a child would mount their board and float along the track, opposite magnetics, along with a back up, a set of landing gear that opened as soon as it got too close to the ground in case the magnetism failed it was a great toy.  

Victor was on his phone to one of his friends, complaining about the fact that he couldn't go some party that he had been invited to. 

Arthur was skating around on his board and everything was going well until he flew over a part of the track that hadn't been put together properly. The board flew away from the track and out of control; Arthur didn't even have time to react before he hit a tree.

Laying flat on his back he saw his arm was sticking out on a funny angle. It was broken. Once his brain came to realize that fact the pain hit him.

Even though he was screaming at the top of his lungs in pain it took Victor a full five minutes to finish his phone call and see what was wrong with his stepbrother.

As paramedics loaded him onto the ambulance Arthur swore that he would make Victor pay for that. 

And he did. 

Well, it wasn't Victor that paid in actuality, it was Vincent. Vincent Greer who was based on Victor, a lot of people in the Matrix and in Zion were based on people that he knew. Because Victor had spent so much time on the phone he had given Greer the 'power' to hear telephone conversations.

In their world there was of course an explanation, there was an error with the plug in the back of his head that kept him hooked into the Matrix.

And he hadn't been the first; there were predecessors for Greer. The Edmund twins from twenty-one Matrix years ago who had had the same power. They weren't based on anyone specific, just historical points so his power wasn't unique. And what had happened with Frag and Defrag had been interesting. Very interesting.

The Matrix, of course that was what was important at the moment, shaking himself from his childhood memories he set about granting a Christmas wish. 

*****

Stevie looked out of one of the Nebuchadnezzar's observation. God, she hated the real world. It was ugly. 

How could any truly sane person prefer this wasteland to the Matrix?

"Stevie?" Someone said from the door. She turned and saw Laddie, who was only a couple of years older than her and was learning to be a ship's operator under Tank's guidance. Unfortunately, it was only for a couple of weeks, like a traineeship, and he was the only human who seemed to like her.  

"Yeah?" she said distractedly. 

"It's Christmas."

"In two days. So what?"

"Don't you know what happens at Christmas?"

"No. Santa? Sentinels in elf suits? The pods get draped in tinsel? Don't keep me in suspense." She was far more sarcastic than she had been in the Matrix; it was a defense mechanism she assumed. 

"Everyone gets one free hour of Matrix time."

"No way."

"Yeah, as long as there isn't any agen…um…um…as long as it's safe." 

"Do you know what today is?"

"No one knows what day it is, we only assume what day it is."

"Matrix day Laddie."

"December twenty-third."

"It's my birthday."

"Really? I didn't know that or I would have got you something."

"You're sweet Laddie."

"Come on Stevie, they're waiting for you." Nodding, she turned away from the view of the desert and followed him up to the main deck. 

A few minutes later she was walking around in the construct, and waited as her clothes were loaded. After that was done she waited as she was loaded into the Matrix.

*****

Smith was shaken from his thoughts as Jones knocked on the door of his office. Sliding his feet off the corner of his desk he adopted a more standard pose before allowing the tech agent in. 

"I am required for an inter-agent conference. Do I have permission to leave?" It was merely a formality to ask, as he was the command unit.

"Of course," smith said with a nod. Jones nodded and left the office, gently shutting the door on the way out. 

The experiment had begun about now; Clarke had delivered the orders about ten in the morning. He would never forget the reaction he had had when the order to raise a child had been given to him. To care for a virus of all things. 

How he had changed. 

A strong knock came on the door. Brown's knock. 

"Come."

The command unit entered stoically. "I am required for an inter-agent conference and I am taking Mimosa with me. It is estimated to finish at nineteen hundred hours."

"Permission granted."

Both his fellow agents…and Mimosa…had been called away to conferences; one at a time was normal but not both at once. That meant he was the only agent in the city at the moment for a few hours.

Now, if only…

No, that was impossible. 

Quite impossible.

Wasn't it?

_Shift to the mall. Third level. Near the escalator._

What? Where had that come from? Not his own thoughts and not his earpiece. Somewhere else, if even at all. Maybe it had just been a hallucination.

_Just do it. _

Even though it may prove him to be unstable he pulled out his earpiece and followed the little voice in his head and shifted himself to the third floor of the mall. Not the small one, nor the largest and its confusing floor plan, just the middle sized one that had been the closest to his house. 

Looking around the multitude of Christmas shoppers he saw her. Like a vision from a dream he saw his daughter coming up the escalator. 

Some teenage boy was running up the escalator, bumping shoppers out of his way and knocking packages down onto the floors below. As he reached the top he slipped on the wet floor, it had been cleaned a couple of hours ago, and barreled straight into Stevie.

Reacting at agent speed he stopped her from falling and then he shoved the offending boy into the nearest wall. He landed in a suitably painful heap so Smith smiled.

"Thank you," Stevie said before she realized whom her rescuer was.

"My pleasure," he said as he steadied her on her feet.

"Dad?" she asked as she turned around. Nodding happily she jumped into his arms.

"Happy birthday Stevie."

"Merry Christmas dad. I just wanted to see you, I didn't think I would get the chance."

"Let's not waste it."

"Don't I have to get out of here, I mean…you're around so where are others?"

"No where near here. We're alone."

"I don't believe it. But I've got less than an hour, we only get an hour of free time."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders they walked around the shops. "Well, if you've got less than an hour, what do you want?"

"Ice-cream," she said immediately. "You have to have some too."

"Ice-cream it is," he said as they walked toward the food court. Stevie laid her hands on the counter. "Cookies and cream and strawberry please." She looked up at her dad. "And a chocolate cone for him."

As they walked away with their ice creams Smith crinkled his nose at the idea of chocolate. Something he had never tried. 

"Go on," she said as she devoured hers. "Or are you scared?" Biting into it he smiled, it wasn't that bad. She found them a booth where they could talk without the rest of the world listening in on them. 

"How is it out there?" he asked seriously as she wiped some strawberry from her chin. 

"I hate it out there. I want to come home. It's so dirty and disgusting out there and the Neb is always cold. The food sucks and Neo is always around."

"I'm sorry you had to learn about this. It wasn't my choice but…I'm sorry Stevie."

She reached across the table and held his spare hand. "No matter what the truth is I'm glad you gave it to me. I understand it all now, I didn't back then. They told me everything that you didn't have time to, the history…everything that they would show one of them." 

He sighed inwardly, anticipating some of her reactions, he hadn't had time to tell her everything and had purposely left out some of the facts simply because she was human. "Well, what do you think now?"

"I still love you, it's just a war, people do what they have to. You're trying to save the world."

"I'm glad you don't hate me."

"I could never hate you, I love you."

"How much time do you have left?"

"Twenty minutes. They'll get pissed if I don't get to the exit when they expect me."

"Language Stephanie, language. You might be living among rebels but that doesn't give you an excuse to swear."

"You are so old fashioned dad."

"Sorry, I don't have you around anymore to keep me up with the times. To make me cool. I am not a cool dude."

"Don't say cool, it isn't cool to say cool anymore."

"Sorry."

Her tone turned serious. "I want to get reconnected to the system. Can you do that for me?"

"I promise if I can organize that I will. Come on, it's your birthday be happy."

"How can I? In twenty minutes I have to leave again and I won't see you for a long time."

"One thing. Name any one thing and we'll do it."

"I want to get my ears pierced," she said suddenly, having just remembered it, "you said when I was sixteen I could get my ears pierced." 

"Well, if I promised. There's a place on level two."

She looked at him with a false suspicion, "how would you know? Do you get your ears pierced?"

"Yes. Yes I did, also the moon is made of green cheese, Neo is your older brother and Zion means 'puppy dog'" he said with a chuckle.

"Fine, you don't have any holes in you," she shivered, "I do out there, they're creepy."

"I've heard about them, come on."

"How do you know about this place?"

"We once encountered a rebel with an inordinate amount of piercing and Stef mentioned this place so that's how I know. I know you know about this place, I remember the day you played hooky so you could get this done behind my back. Luckily your principal found you."

"I was the only girl in my class with no holes in my ears. Where is Stef anyway?"

"She's…" he couldn't tell her, he just couldn't, "on assignment. But she said happy birthday and merry Christmas if I did see you."

"Tell her I said hi." 

"Ok," she said as they walked into Amy's, a hairdresser that also pierced ears. Despite the calm name the shop was very trendy, stylish furniture and top forty music was blasted from a sound system. 

"Can I help you?" A lady with a nametag reading 'Rachel' asked them.

"I want to get my ears pierced," Stevie said. 

"Right this way," Rachel said. "There's no one waiting so we can do you straight away. 

"Did you have a pair of earrings or were you just going to pick out one of ours?" 

"Um…just a store pair," but Smith shook his head. 

"We have pair."

"Dad…"

"Birthday present," he said pulling small box from his pocket that hadn't been there a minute ago, well of course not – he had just required it.

Handing the small red velvet box she gasped when she saw the earrings inside. Solid twenty-four carat gold encrusted with diamonds and rubies and a stylized S shape. 

"Lucky girl," Rachel said as she set up the equipment. 

"They're beautiful."

"I'm glad you like them."

After the procedure was done they walked out of Amy's. "I have to get to the exit now, or they'll get mad."

"Five more minutes, please."

"No," an all-too-familiar voice hissed from behind them. Stevie turned first.

"Go away Neo."

"You had one hour, you went overtime it's time to get out of the Matrix."

"Dad?"

"You've got to go," he said sadly. Wrapping her in a tight embrace he leant down and whispered, "I love you," before releasing her. "Merry birthday and happy Christmas."

"Same to you dad," she said as Neo scowled. The 'one' pointed to the door of the mall. Stevie smiled once more at Smith before following the rebel out, trailing a couple of feet behind him. 

Neo's dark look only increased as he saw her present. Flicking at the earrings dismissively he said something cruel but Smith couldn't make it out as they were too far away. Stevie's hurt and angry look was enough of an invitation to do something about it.

He would have, had a toy car not hit him in the side of the head. 

Spinning on the spot he saw someone running away, an indistinct shape was tearing through the crowd, away from him. Jamming his earpiece back in he heard it say.

^Exile. Thirty meters east of you.^

Stevie would be all right, besides taking on the one when he held his daughter's life in his hands when she was out in his world was not a good idea. 

^Exile is not forty meters east of you. Initiate search and destroy.^

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yay, I finally got this chapter done. 

I turned 18 on July 2. Yay!


	11. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Five

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Five

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **3641

DoD Chapter Four is still the longest chapter but this one didn't do too badly considering the original word count was 654.****

You may not want the next chapter. 

I think it's getting a little boring. Well, let me know…

**Please Read and Review.**

Chasing the exile through the store, Smith attracted some suspicious looks from the shoppers. But the suit identified as him as an officer of the law so they cleared a path.

Stef ran for her life. She had to escape him. Once she would have never run away from him but now she knew differently, anyone who could replace her with a copy… She was an exile, agents killed exiles.

But she couldn't let what was going to happen, happen. For once she owed Jonas. 

And she owed Persephone and The Keymaker.

Oh, how it had been interesting to work for The Merovingian.

Running into a service corridor she was greeted by a hall of doors, twisting each knob she finally found one that opened, quickly hiding in she shut the door quietly so he couldn't hear her.

Stef tried to control her breathing. The less noise she made the less chance there was of being discovered. 

As she backed into the small office a power surge hit the mall and the lights flickered on and off. 

Trying to calm herself down she remembered the first day she had gone to work for the French program.

*****

She had discovered something her first night at Hummer's. Something that she loved about being an exile. She could sleep. Something that she had dearly missed while being an agent, but as an exile she could sleep.

The twins had met her at Hummer's back door early that next morning and had taken her through a door into The Merovingian's mansion, some remote location up in the mountains but luxurious nonetheless.  

The Merovingian had walked down the elegant staircase flanked by four other bodyguards. Persephone trailed a little behind, her bored from the day before had disappeared and she actually seemed interested.

The Twins joined their boss and he looked down at her, standing a few stairs from the bottom. 

"Well, do I start now?"

"No. First you must prove that you are worthy to work among us, I can't have any useless programs working for me."

"I am far from useless," she said evenly.

"I will not believe that until you have proven it."

Tests, always with the tests. Passing the tests to become a recruit had been no trouble so why should passing the tests to become a bodyguard? A slow smile spread across her face. "What do I do?"

"Fight my men. If you survive then you get the job."

She looked at them, they didn't seem anymore dangerous than rebels than she had fought but then again the oracle had mentioned about the vampires, ghosts, werewolves and the like. Could any of these programs be anything paranormal? She knew the twins were hiding something behind their pasty faces and silver coats. What it was, or what they could do…whatever it was she would find out in a minute.

"Can I kill them? Do you want me to use deadly force?" 

"You may not. They can."

"What kind of bullshit is that?" She asked incredulously. 

"My kind of bullshit. My world, my rules. Do you still want the job?"

"Yeah. Bring it on." He smiled creepily and held out his hand to Persephone, they walked back up the stairs to get a good vantage point. The rest of the guards surrounded her and assumed battle stances. Shaking herself out, she closed her eyes for a second to get all her concentration. 

Opening her eyes she smirked, this was her kind of fun.

"Begin." He uttered. 

As with the third recruit test she let all of her conscious thoughts drop away and react on instinct. She still had all of her abilities, recruit ones anyway. She was unable to shift, morph or use communication. Besides that she could do everything she had been able to do previously. 

Punch, kick, block.

Flipping in midair she came down and knocks two of their heads together. Punching, she hit nothing but air but the next kick hit the target.

All of The Merovingian's guards used brute strength rather than intelligence in their fights. Except for the twins…where in hell were the pasty ones? She hadn't seen them since her future boss had started the fight.

With the other guards down she looked expectantly up at Merovingian and Persephone. "Well?"

He shook his head. The test wasn't over yet. 

Persephone blinked and looked downward. Following the gaze, Stef looked down and saw one of the twins coming up from the floor. 

Perplexed at the sight of a real ghost, or as real as they apparently came she didn't move. He ghosted to his full height in front of her, solidified, and smiled down at her. 

"Wow." Then he smiled again.

Wait a second, wasn't there two of them?

On the edge of her sight she saw something flash, light spilled off a razor blade as it flew through the air toward her from the side. Reacting by jumping high over their heads she looked back down in horror as Two plunged the razor into his brother's chest.

Dropping the gravity out from under herself she dropped quickly back down. "Shit, I'm sorry…I didn't…" Both look at her in confusion and One pulled his brother's knife out of his chest. She watched in amazement as his skin and clothes repaired themselves.

A few seconds later, he was as good as new.

"Well done, very well done. You have the job."

*****

Smith came to where the exile had stopped running. A hallway full of doors greeted him. There were only so many doors; it would be behind one of them.

"Come out, come out. Wherever you are." The agent said in a singsong voice outside her door. It was Smith. She knew his voice and had taught him that line herself.

Though, when she had taught him that it was to play hide-and-seek with Stevie it had made her smile. Tonight it filled her with dread.

Would he really kill her?

She had been his best friend, would he really end her life?

She was just an exile now, of course he would. She was just another enemy. She thought back to their fights together. What he could do this his enemies made her shudder.

She retreated further into the shadows; the lights had flickered off and hadn't come back on, and waited to see what was going to happen.

Caring, that was her problem. She was going to die cause she cared too much. 

"Come out, come out. Wherever you are."

*****

After she had been officially hired, Merovingian had left with his guards. Persephone walked back down the stairs. Stef wondered if everything this woman owned was tight and white.

Probably.

"Well, now that you're working here we should probably work on your wardrobe. My husband likes his employees to have some fashion sense."

"Sorry, I don't have that subroutine."

"Denim can't be very comfortable to fight in can it?"

"Not as comfortable as what I'm used to. Unfortunately all I have at the moment is the clothes on my back."

"What are you used to? What were you before you went rogue?" Persephone asked as she gestured to the table on the broad deck that hung over toward the edge of the cliff that the mansion was resting in. 

"It's an incredible view."

"Everything my husband owns is incredible, fantastic, elegant or expensive. He is very rich, he has whatever he wants."

"What about you?"

"What about me? Are you asking me if I approve of what my husband does, his value system?"

"No, I didn't…"

"I know. Sometimes I just wish he used to be like he used to. He wasn't always like this, not before."

"Before what?"

"Before he started to value money over everything. I used to love him, he used to love me."

"And now?" 

"I'm not sure anymore."  

"Why are you telling me this? Haven't you got someone else…friends?"

"I don't mean to burden you. I am like a queen who tells the maid her innermost thoughts. Except you aren't a maid."

"Are you a queen?"

"The closest thing to it. Mero is a king among the exiles and I do live in palace."

***

She had been working for them for five weeks. Taking out some of the exiles that had been stupid enough to make themselves enemies of the Merovingian. She quickly learned that the world she was working in completely revolved around him, he was all that mattered. Everyone else was incidental. 

That included his wife. It was a well-known fact among the guards that he regularly cheated on her. She seemed to know but never did anything about it. 

The twins were cool enough; they smoked and ate ice cream, a fact that amused her. 

Persephone really was like royalty but more than a queen, she reminded Stef of princess locked up in a tower, shut away from the world and helpless to do anything about it.

Or at least, that's how most saw her; Stef knew that was far from the truth. She was very strong, not physically like the guards or even like a martial artist; she was too ladylike for that. Her strength was inside, Stef hoped she got a chance to see what she could do. 

And she had helped her get some new clothes. Ones that were acceptably fashionable to pass the Merovingian's standards but comfortable and easy to fight in. And they felt familiar.  

On her first afternoon there, Persephone had pulled small key from her purse and put it into the lock of kitchen cupboard. Stef was confused for a second but as soon as the door opened she wasn't confused anymore.

It was another back door.

She took her to a tailor's; apparently all the guards had their outfits made there. As the tailor measured her she looked over at Persephone. "Can I have a suit? An agent suit, that's what I fight in."

"You go out there in a suit like that and you won't last long, not without all of the abilities of an agent. Exiles hate agents. But a suit might be possible, but with alterations."

The next day her clothes were delivered. A royal blue silken dress suit, longer jacket than the standard agent jacket but still suitable to fight in. A pale blue business shirt with pearl buttons had been tailored perfectly for her. 

"Well?"

Stef had seen the initial designs the day before but hadn't expected anything like this. "It's very cool Persephone. Thank you."

That afternoon she had followed the twins into the weapons room. She could have anything she could use. Each guard had their specialty. One and Two had their razors, Caradoc used a bejeweled sword, and Lee Ming used a katana. Lee was an expert, only the second person she had seen use that type of sword. 

Greer was good, no mistake but Lee was better. He had been using it all his life. 

Hidden among the racks of guns was her weapon of choice. Picking up the Desert Eagle she felt a little better. Maybe she couldn't be an agent again but she could still do what she was best at. Defending her employer. One had been for a cause, one was for a paycheck, besides that there was no difference. 

***

It was Stevie's birthday. Poor kid was stuck in the real world. On Anderson's ship nonetheless, living with her dad's worst enemy. 

"Happy birthday kid."

"You like her right?" a voice said. Spinning, Stef couldn't see the owner of the voice.

"Where are you Jonas?" Damn it, what did he want now?

"Over here," the TV said. Stef walked over to the TV and knelt in front of it. 

"What do you want Jonas? Wish me a merry Christmas?"

"Actually out here it's only July." The programmer said, pushing his round glasses back up his nose. 

"Great. What do you want then?"

"Stevie. You like her right?"

"Didn't you realize that when we met the first time? Or are you that stupid?"

"You shouldn't insult me. Or I won't tell you what you what I'm here to tell you."

"What is that? And why would I be interested?"

"She's going to die."

"What?"

"Right now she's in the Matrix with Smith. They're eating ice cream. In a few minutes Neo is going to show up. Smith will get pissed off and start beating the crap out of him – or tries to at least. Anderson makes the call and they pull her plug."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not."

"Then why are you telling me?" Jonas hated her, why would he tell her?

Reading her thoughts as they were displayed on the screen beside him he shook his head. "I don't hate you…I hate Serica, the real, real you – the original, the person you are based on. You, you're just annoying, but on the other hand you are interesting. You like trying to save everyone so I thought I'd give you the chance."

"I'm stuck up here in the mountains. How am I supposed to get to the city in a few minutes? Are you going to teleport me? I don't even have key to the backdoors."

"We'll get to that in a minute. You do realize that you're an exile don't you?"

"Yes Jonas I'm not that stupid. That may explain why my suit is blue." 

"Agents kill exiles."

"Yeah, Hummer and the Oracle told me. Your point is."

"Well, I know you're going to help the kid, so I programmed that into the scenario and ran it. I've just seen your future and turned back time to talk to you now."

He couldn't mean…

"What happens Jonas?"

"You're going to die. Smith is going to kill you. So here you have a choice, save the kid or save yourself."

"That's a bitch of a choice." She said, swallowing and wishing she didn't have to make this choice. "You could just type in some commands and make it all better. You could – you're god aren't you?"

"Yes. But this is your world, you have to make the choice."

"Please don't make me do this."

"Make the choice Stef, you're all running out of time."

She couldn't let Stevie die and she would be a coward if she sat there and didn't at least try and save her. She could get away from Smith, she could escape. She knew she could. He wouldn't catch her. 

"You are going to die Stef."

"Stop reading my thoughts Jonas."

"You want to know how to get to the mall?"

"Do I need a map?"

"No, just the white queen."

"Persephone?"

"Yeah. That was a good day when I programmed her. Lovely resolution."

"Are you in love with your own piece of programming?"

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating a piece of fine art. Tell her you need to see the Keymaker."

"The who?"

"Small Asian guy that Mero has locked up in the dungeon."

"This place has a dungeon?" Apparently, it took more than five weeks to learn everything about this mansion. 

"You're running out of time."

Stef stood and walked away from the TV. Looking back he nodded. "You're welcome."

***

He cut the transmission into the matrix, which was easier than pulling her into his world or placing himself into her world. What he did had little difference to a web cam, he could see her and she could see him – it was all they needed.

He had lied, he hadn't run the second simulation, he was just going to see what was going to happen if she had gone and tried to save the day.

Last time it had worked quite well, this time however it couldn't go as well. Agents always caught and killed exiles, only in isolated cases had they escaped the protectors of the system. 

And this time Stef was just an exile. 

Pulling his chair in close to the table, he propped his head on his hands and watched as Stef ran through the mansion. Unlike the humans in the real world who watched the Matrix by decoding the green code he was able to watch it like he was watching TV or a video game, it was his world – why should he have to work to see the results of his programming skills?

***

She only had a few minutes and the mansion was huge. She needed to find Persephone. The white queen could be anywhere.

White queen that sounded like something from Alice in Wonderland. No, that was the red queen. Well, it sounded the same. This world really needed to get a new metaphor. 

"Do you want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes Stef?" Morpheus had asked her. The truth was he didn't even know. What the hell would happen if he met Jonas and discovered that the world he was fighting for was just another level of programming?

Maybe she could tell them, tell them that the war was for nothing and when it came down to it they were no different. Everyone and everything lived on Jonas' file server.

No, she wasn't that cruel, not even to the rebels.

Not that she had the time.

Damn Jonas, he could fix it easily, why did he have to make her make this choice.

She didn't want to die.

Again.

She'd lost count of how many times she had died.

And by the way he was talking he didn't plan on bringing her back.

And who the hell was Serica? She could ask Jonas next time he decided to talk to her. If she got the chance. 

She would get the chance.

Wouldn't she?

"Persephone where are you?" Stef muttered. 

"What's wrong?" the white queen asked as she walked up behind her. 

"I need to see the Keymaker. I need his help."

"Who told you about him?"

"Please, someone I care about is going to die if I don't find him."

"All right, he's this way." Walking hurriedly, they walked down to the dungeon and she unlocked a door to a small room with a whirring machine inside.

"Oh – you're here," the short man said. He stood away from his key machine and tuned to the thousands of key hooks on the walls. Walking along it, he selected a small silver one. The initials S.M. had been carved in by hand.

"This is my key?" he nodded. "How did you know?"

"It is my job to know. Use that door."

"Thank you," looking at Persephone she smiled sadly. "I'm not coming back," no matter how much she believed that she could escape Smith she _knew _she wasn't going to be coming back. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome."

Stef pushed the key into the lock of the Keymaker's small room and twisted it, opening the door again she saw the mall. Turning back for a second she looked at the white queen. "You know Mero cheats on you don't you?"

"Yes. Don't worry about him. I'm going to deal with him."

"I knew you would. Good luck." Slamming the door behind her she ran into the mall looking for Smith.

She was too late; she could see him walking toward the door of the mall. Just visible outside the door was Anderson and Stevie. Running toward him she knew she could never get there in time. Something ran into her, a small boy and a toy car. 

Just what she needed.

Reaching down, she forced the car from his hand and threw it at Smith's head. Her aim was true and it struck him in the side of the head.

"Come on, forget about Anderson. Don't be an idiot, he'll kill her if you're an idiot," she prayed. "Please." Her prayers were answered when he turned away from the rebel and his daughter, she saw him put his earpiece back in.

~ ~ "You are going to die Stef." 

Jonas' words resonated through her as she ran for her life.

***

Now she was just waiting and hiding in the dark. 

She had considered running but she had more of a chance if she stayed quiet and still. Her breathing was quieter than a whisper but she was sure that everyone in the shopping center must have been able to hear her thumping heart that was threatening to break out of her chest.

She was going to die. Some how she just knew that. 

*****

Smith shifted into the room instead of kicking the door down. A chance of a surprise attack was not to be sneezed at, when dealing with the enemy all advantages should be taken.

He shifted in behind the exile, the barely discernible shape of the rogue program told him it was looking the other way. Stupid program – it wouldn't even see its own doom coming.

Walking silently forward as only an agent can he walked right up to it…her and grabbed the back of her head and slammed it into the wall. There was a sickening sound as the soft flesh and skull impacted the wall. 

The sudden attack knocked all the chance of retaliation from her.

Some of the plaster fell away as he spun her around and rapid-punched her in the gut. He heard a sickening crack twice as two of her ribs broke from the force of his blows. 

It was nothing more than an exile; he could beat it and pretend that it was Anderson. A new hate for each powerful blow.

Anderson. 

Rebels.

Zion.

Whitman.

Beating his fists harder into the meaningless exile harder than he had ever fought before he could feel blood on his hands. Shaking himself from his vengeful funk he realized that his enemy was injured and injured badly.

Well, it was weak now. Too weak to fight back.

Time for the kill. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ok, I think I'll stop it right here. 

No more updates.

Ever.

He, he, he.

Ok, I'm sorry. I pulled a Wachowski Brothers. As in I did little justice to the Reloaded characters. Sorry, I did cut out some sub-plots and stuff that were making the story unnecessarily complicated. Same goes for Hummer, I wish I'd had a chance to get some more of him in here. But never fear, this series hasn't seen the last of them.

Even if it has seen the last of some others. 


	12. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Six

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Six

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1309****

**Please Read and Review.**

Smith stopped his barrage of punches and she slipped to the floor. Her breathing was ragged and she was slumped limply on the floor like a rag doll as he drew his gun. He crouched down so he was on the same level as her. Her head was hanging forward. She was beaten.

"You didn't think you could hide from us forever did you?"

She tried to wheeze an answer but he couldn't understand her. He gripped her hair and pulled her head up so he could get a clear shot. He pressed the end of the Desert Eagle to the middle of her forehead and went to fire.

Shit no, he really was going to do it.

"Don't," she managed. 

The sound of the exile's voice stopped him dead. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. The person the voice belonged to didn't exist anymore; she was nothing more than a memory.

As the lights flickered back on they showed him exactly who he was aiming his gun at. Who he was about to kill. 

Stef.

His heart soared as his guts froze. She was alive but he had just beaten her to within an inch of her life. There was an ugly and bleeding gash running across her forehead and there was blood ringing her mouth. 

A stray punch had caught her left eye; it was swollen to the point where it was almost shut. 

She was too beaten even to be able to see straight. She was breathing in torn, painful gasps. 

How could he have done this to her?

Her working eye, which was only giving her a bleary and foggy view of the world decided to shut. If he was going to do it she would rather not see it coming. Her head rolled forward, she was in too much pain to do anything other than accept whatever was going to happen.

Every program that went rogue was different. As an agent he could never have hurt her like this, apparently as an exile she was little more than a strong, in theory immortal, recruit.

He let his gun drop to the ground and he let her head go; he knelt next to her and pulled her in close to him. He could feel her trembling, she was afraid of him. Well, she had a right to be – what he had been going to do to her was enough to make him shake. 

Half-consciously she was whimpering at him for mercy. Begging him not to hurt her. 

"I'm not going to hurt you Stef. Just go to sleep." Stroking her hair and pulling the stray strands from the gash he made a requirement, he required her to sleep, it was a simple tweaking of the code so that she would fall unconscious. 

Wrapping his arms around her protectively he tried to shift them away. He cursed under his breath when she didn't shift with him. It had been his own fault, he had thought: _Require, shift Agent Mimosa_.

The mainframe didn't recognize her as Agent Mimosa anymore so he identified her by sight and this time they shifted away.

There was only one safe place he knew where they could go. He would have liked to have taken her to his house that he had while he had been raising Stevie but it had long since been replaced by another house with humans living in it.

He shifted them both to her apartment. Laying her gently into her bed he went about dressing all the wounds he had inflicted. He downloaded all the relevant medical training from the mainframe but decided against putting her ribs in a cast, instead he chose a tight bandage that would hold her ribs in place without the awkwardness of a hard cast.

She was hurt badly, even unconscious she was wincing in pain as he bandaged her middle. 

Where had she been all this time?

She had become an exile, that much was obvious but how why hadn't she found some way of alerting him to the fact that she wasn't dead. It would have helped him avoid months of guilt and heartbreak and the incident a few moments ago.

He should have guessed that she would have chosen to become an exile rather than die, he would have. But he didn't think that the shatter command would have left enough of her to make that decision. In theory it shouldn't have.

He was glad the theory had been wrong. 

That bad theory had let his friend come back to him. That was of course if she even wanted to be his friend anymore – something had changed, there had to be some reason that she had let him believe that she was dead. Some reason.

He could ask her later. For now she needed sleep.

She didn't wake up for hours. When she did finally open her eyes the first thing she saw was Smith.

Considering what her last memory was he found it understandable that she screamed and startled to scramble backward, knowing that would hurt her more than she would realize at the moment he moved quickly and held her down by her shoulders, assuring she wasn't going anywhere.

"No!  No!" she cried as she struggled to get free, thinking he was still in battle mode.

"Stef – stop." She froze at the command, and let her brain wake up. "I am not going to hurt you." As she gained full consciousness she realized that he wasn't going to hurt he, in fact he was the least threatening she had ever seen him.

"Smith?" she asked timidly.

"It's ok Stef." He said, taking his hands from her shoulders. 

She yawned and as she did a huge wave of pain ran through her middle. Taking her eyes off him she lifted up her shirt and saw the bandage.

"You did this to me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"You were trying to kill me."

"I didn't know it was you."

"I was worried that that wouldn't make a difference."

"What are you talking about?"

"You forgot about me. You replaced me. I saw that other Stef."

"You mean that fake that Clarke ordered Jones to bring online? She isn't you."  

"Yeah. Her."

"I thought I was never going to see you again."

He sat beside her and pulled her into a hug.

"I missed you too." It was true, more than anything else she had missed him. It was strange, how truly inseparable she felt they were. She had gone to school with people for years and at the end of high school they had parted without so much as a nod.

She had known him for less than two years and they had been apart for months. It was possible that she was just some replaceable fellow agent but the look on his face told her otherwise.

Pain surged through her again. 

_God, he was really trying to kill me_. Stef realized. _He would have killed me._

Pulling back from him she shifted the pillows around so she could sit up without much trouble on her part. 

"What's wrong?"

"I just can't help but think what would have happened if you hadn't seen me."

"I didn't know it was you. If I had known it was you I never would have hurt you. I could never hurt you."

"But you could blow me to the four corners of the mainframe."

"I didn't have a choice about that. I had to destroy Whitman."

"I know but one day my luck is going to run out." He nodded grimly, nothing as good as her luck could last forever.

She rolled onto her side, facing away from him. Pulling her knees up a little she sighed and decided to tell him the truth.

"Sometimes I wish I had never met you." 


	13. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Seven

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Seven

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1342****

**Please Read and Review.**

"Do you really mean that?"

She let that hang for a moment before she continued. "I wish that I could wake up and none of this never happened, that I knew nothing about the world or this war. That I didn't have to fight and die. Sometimes I wish I could be a human again."

He had asked her once if she had wanted to be human again. Her answer had been 'hell no' but he felt that this was more truthful than that brazen statement she had made within a week of becoming an agent.

Before anything terrible had happened. Before she had known about decompiles, glitches and Whitman. 

It would take a while but he could hack into her code and erase all the memories. He could make her forget everything; she could wake up as a part of normal society again.

Even thought he would lose her again – permanently this time, if that was what she wanted, it was what he would do for her.

He owed her that much.

You did that for the people you love. And he loved Stef. Except for Stevie she was the closest thing he had to family and she was his friend. 

"But," she said – finally continuing. "Then I think about that and realize that that's not true. You opened my eyes; you showed me the world as it really is. You gave me the truth. No matter what I did you've been there for me, something I can't say of any other person."

She drew in a deep breath and let it go. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Neither would I," he said quietly as he held her around the shoulders and gently drew her toward him. 

Resting against his right side, she lay her head down on his arm. While he gently laid his other arm over her other shoulder she fell asleep. It was what she needed, safe sleep. 

As fatigue overtook her she realized that the person she was falling asleep next too had killed her three times and had almost made it four. The same hand that was resting on her shoulder was one that had almost beaten the life from her.

 She should be afraid of him, she shouldn't trust him but she did. He wasn't a safe person to be around, then again…

Tucked up against the other agent she realized that she did feel safe. Maybe it came with fatherhood, Stevie had always felt safe. But then again, her own father wasn't…hadn't been as good as making her feel safe.

He had always made her confront her fears, even though she had been very young at the time he had always made her feel silly when she had had a nightmare. 

He had been an asshole, at least he was dead now.

As she slipped over into sleep she was sure that if she had any nightmares Smith would chase them away.

She slept all the way through to ten the next morning. She had hardly stirred, except a few moments of pain early in the morning. 

As she woke Smith's earpiece crackled from his collar. He replaced it and listened. Without sounding suspicious Jones was inquiring as to his location and status.

"I have been tracking a rebel. I have lost contact so I am returning now."

"Affirmative."

The sound died. "I'm not a rebel." Stef mumbled.

"I know. I have to go."

"Go. I'll just be here."

"Just rest, I'll come back." She smiled as he shifted away. As she adjusted her pillows so she could go back to sleep her ribs flared in pain. 

She shivered as she realized that she was lucky that it was only two ribs that he had broken. He could have broken every bone in her body without blinking.

She dozed for a few more hours until she wasn't tired anymore. She didn't feel up for solid foods so a milkshake would suffice as lunch.

Dragging her painful self out to the living room she laid down on the lounge and turned the TV on. Talk shows, sports, nothing good so she put in a movie.

Pulling a woolen blanket up over her shoulders she sipped her shake.

It took over a month for her ribs to mend and the deep bruises to disappear but without fail he would check on her each day, all she had to do was sit around and watch TV. 

One night he shifted in and saw her dressed in more than pajamas, which had been her staple clothing for the last month, comfortable and easy, and perched on the end of the couch waiting for him.

"I'm better. What happens now?"

"Do you wish to remain an exile?"

"Can I come home?"

"You are home."

"You know where I mean. I'm sick of being hunted. Can I come back?" She was afraid of the answer. She wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer.

"It is possible. But only if the mainframe decides for it to be so."

"And if it doesn't?"

"It can delete you."

"Great."

"You can hide here. There's nothing wrong with that is there?"

"I am sick of being a coward. I want to come back, I want to be an agent again."

"Good. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Taking her hand, he shifted them away. As they appeared from shift in the agency the first thing Stef saw was Brown. Brown raising his gun to be precise. 

"Exile," he snarled.

Afraid for her life Stef took a step back. Smith stepped between them. "You will not fire. Put your weapon away."

Casting a death-look at Stef Brown holstered his weapon. "Follow me," Smith said as he started off down the corridor.

Smith led her down a corridor of the Agency she'd never seen before. Then again, this being a variable building it probably wasn't there most of the time. She could still feel Brown's stare following her.

Taking a few quick steps she got about a pace in front of him. "I just don't want him shooting me in the back," she muttered.

"It wouldn't be beyond him." He replied quietly.

"Where are we going?"

"To see Clarke, he can put your plea before the mainframe. Are you sure you want to do this? Once you step in there you can be deleted with no more than a passing thought."

"I'm ready to accept it. I've had enough of running, I want to come home."

"Then go on," as they turned the corner Stef could see Clarke waiting at the end of the next section of corridor. 

Smith squeezed her shoulder protectively and pushed her forward.

"Good luck."

"I have a feeling I'll need it."

Every one of her footfalls resounded in the empty hallway. Half of her wanted to run away and disappear. The other half made her walk forward – she was sick of being a coward.

Clarke was stoic as always. He was as boring as hell but he did his job. "Come with me." He said as he opened the door. Stef followed him in; unsure of what she would see.

After the door shut Smith walked up to it and leaned slightly against the wall. Whatever was going to happen he wanted to be there.

Stef was in an exceedingly human office. A richly colored wooden desk dominated the room with a high-backed swivel chair turned away, just visible beyond the chair was a window programmed to show a view of the city.

"You can leave Clarke," whoever-it-was in the chair said sternly. With one nod the agent disappeared.

"So we finally meet Mimosa," the man said. "I'd like to say it's a pleasure but you've been a lot of trouble since you came online."

"Who are you?" Stef asked.

"You already know that so why are you asking?" he asked in a carefully measured voice as he swiveled the chair.

Stef caught her breath as she realized that she did know who he was, "the mainframe," she whispered.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Well, what ya think of that? 

I would just like to clarify something. The mainframe is not the architect. That guy just annoys me and I would find his dialogue too insanely complicated to write so he doesn't exist in this universe. Does anyone miss him anyway?

Don't worry, everything will get explained next chapter.


	14. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Eight

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: Chapter Nine

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **2749****

**A/N: **Hi, the next couple of chapters will finish off Flight of Shadows, I know I said it would be in three parts but I can use the third part later as a separate story, I think this is a better ending anyway, it helps to keep Whitman in the story and keep that arc a little closer together whereas in the other version it kind of drifted away and made that part of the arc meaninglessness.

**Please Read and Review.**

The mainframe nodded. "Very good, that only took longer than expected." The mainframe had a sense of sarcasm? That was confusing her almost as much as the fact that he looked like a very old version of Smith.

Grandpa Smith.

She would have laughed but she was too worried for the furthering of her existence for that.

"Well what is that you want Mimosa?"

Didn't he know already? "I want to be an agent again."

"Why?"

"Why? It's the only thing I'm good at. It's who I am."

"No it's not, you're Stephanie Mimosa. You were human – or have you forgotten that?"

"No, but that's not who I am. And it's Stef." 

"Don't take that tone with me young one," he started angrily but caught himself. "You're not afraid of me are you?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Stef said – she had dealt with bigger fish before. The man who was basically god so the mainframe didn't scare her.

At least, she wished that he didn't. 

"I know. You're not afraid of anyone."

"I was afraid of Whitman. I was scared by what I tried to do."

"Whitman was a mistake. I've started to think that you were too."

"That's not true."

"Do you know that I could delete you with a snap of my fingers, and delete every memory of you from everyone still connected to me? It would be as though you never existed."

"If you're going to do it, do it. Otherwise stop threatening me."

"Do you know that in all my Matrix, all of the world there is only one like you? For every where in this world except for this very room you are unique?"

"What?"

"How much do you know of the history of the Matrix?"

"Not much."

"Two hundred years ago, after the short war with the humans there was one man – only one who was willing to work with the machines. It was he who dreamed up the Matrix, he designed it and brought this virtual world into being."

Stef caught her breath. "You."

"Yes Mimosa, me."

"But that would mean you're like two hundred and forty years old. No human can survive that long."

"The machines did their best they could but eventually my body did succumb from old age. It didn't matter by that point, I had evolved to such a point where I didn't need a body any more. I just moved permanently into here so I could look after my world."

"If you did that so long ago how did you screw up Whitman?" Stef asked, her voice dripping with accusation.

"The process with you two were completely different than what I did to myself. I merely absorbed so much data that my body became redundant. You and Carol were transfers in the space of a few hours, a more risky process."

Oh.

"It was her human side that was insane, not my code."

"In any case she was a mistake."

"And so are you. At least this one I can fix."

"What?"

"I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. I'm going to delete you."

"No."

"You shouldn't have come back. At least as an exile you had a chance."

"But I'm an agent."

"No, you are some sorry little human pretending to be an agent playing a part in a war that you don't even understand."

"The rebels must be crushed. I know that."

The mainframe chuckled unsettlingly. "Do you even know why they are fighting?"

"To destroy the Matrix. They seek the truth."

"That's only part of it. That's the half you do know. Human beings are batteries."

"I've heard them say that," Stef said, shifting uneasily on her feet. "I don't care. Humans destroyed the planet. They deserve whatever they got."

"You delude yourself. Goodby…" As he went to say 'goodbye' he stopped and stared at someone behind her. Stef slowly turned back to see who it was he was looking at.

One blond ex-human and ex-agent, one insane enemy. Carol Whitman.

"Jonas says hi," Carol said with a sneering smile.

"He sent you back didn't he?"

"Of course, you get to meet the mainframe, I get to kill the mainframe – the agents are connected to it, no it no them."

"If you destroy the mainframe, you'll kill all the humans still hooked up to the matrix," The mainframe was very quiet and Stef's brain was desperately trying to come up with some sort of plan but it was frozen.

"The human race sucks. You feel that way too don't you?"

"Yes."

"We're not so different Stef, not on the inside where it counts. We aren't all that different."

"I am nothing like you."

"Of course you are, we're the same. Both unique, out of place, out of time, alone. Well, you're alone, I have a real man." 

"Jonas is an ass wipe."

"But his butt is cute."

"The go back to him. Go away."

"I will – after I deal with the boys."

"You're a psycho bitch. You know that don't you?"

"Oh yeah." Carol took a step toward them. The mainframe stood and backed away to his window. Stef fixed a cold stare on her predecessor.

"You'll have to get through me first."

"That won't be a problem. If you're not with me, you're against me."

"Bring it on."

"Gladly." 

As Carol walked toward her, Stef looked around for the mainframe but he had disappeared. What a coward. 

"You know I'm going to win. Give up now and I'll make your death painless. I promise." Whitman purred at her.

"I have never given up in my life – I'm not about to start now."

"Then it's going to be very painful." Carol promised her darkly. 

Then Stef heard a most welcome sound. The distinct click of a Desert Eagle safety coming undone. 

"Duck!" she heard Smith command. Dropping to the floor, he emptied the entire clip at his former recruit and curse. The bullets bounced off Whitman as she ran toward him. 

Kicking out her leg, Carol tripped and fell to the floor, landing on the expensive rug. Jumping to her feet, Stef and Smith ran from the room with Whitman right behind them. 

"I'm going to hurt you. Then I'm going to make you scream. Then I'm going to kill you!"

Smith touched two fingers to his earpiece. Seconds later, Jones, Brown and Mimosa appeared. 

There was silence for a few extended seconds before all hell broke loose.

The fight was a flurry of attacks and defenses; too fast for any human to see it was going to be the final fight for one side. Either the agents were going to die or Whitman was going to be defeated. One or the other, only time would tell.

One high kick sent Jones barreling back into Brown. Whitman grabbed Smith and threw him down the corridor, slamming Stef's head into the wall she turned to Mimosa.

"Why are there two of you?"

"There are not." Agent Mimosa said. 

"Bye-bye."

Whitman stared at her and emitted a strange, hollow sound from deep within. Mimosa looked almost confused for a second before falling in a boneless heap on the floor. Literally, the insane blond had stripped the agent of all of her bones. Swaggering toward her, she lifted her leg and slammed the stiletto heel into the agent's throat. 

Agent Mimosa died. 

Trying frantically to free herself from the wall she heard Whitman's cackling laugh – she had destroyed one of them, she wasn't sure she wanted to know which.

Stef heard two dull thuds and the laughter died. Ok, what had happened? Someone gently helped her out of the wall, breaking the piece of plaster that had trapped her in there. 

Turning to her helper, Stef saw it was Whitman.

Backpedaling she hit a wall that hadn't been there a second ago. She was trapped in an airtight cube with Whitman and Brown – two of her least favorite people in any world.

Brown was an image from a nightmare – or rather from a glitch. He was pinned to the wall by long knives in his arms. For the first time Stef understood how these knives worked, they were programmed knives – physical weapons to directly attack code.

"Want to help me?" Whitman asked her.

"I don't…"

"Stop, stop, stop. I'm giving you a chance here. He hates you as much as he hates me, it's written all over his face, I'm just giving you a chance to do what you've always wanted."

"I have never wanted to do this."

"Sure you have Stef. I can see it. Just do this one thing and you'll be free. One more kill and you'll be free forever."

Brown sneered at both of them. His hate was radiating out around him like a nuclear explosion.

Stef was silent for a long moment, just staring at him and trying to take it all in.

"I knew it. I knew we weren't that different. Now do it."

I want to do this. He's a jerk. He's…

Brown.

An agent, like me. 

I can't…

Can I?

No, of course not.

They would never know.

I can't.

Sure you can.

No.

Yes.

No.

Kill him.

I won't.

You will. It would be so simple a thing. He's helpless at the moment.

I know who I am.

"All right Carol. Let's do this. Let's see how alike we are."

Carol's eyes flashed, she knew she would win. She knew that her sequel wasn't perfect.

"Here, a present," she said, handing her a long knife that appeared from nowhere. Considering for a few seconds whether or not it was a good idea she looked at Stef.

"Come on, I want to do this."

"Good."

Stef accepted the knife and walked toward the tall agent. Blood from his arms was running down the wall. Holding the sword with the precision that comes from watching Star Wars too many times she lightly traced it down his chest, the tip cutting the cloth of his jacket but not his skin.

"Well?" Carol pestered. "When?"

"In a second, I want a chance to savor this." She looked up at Brown's sunglasses, seeing the reflection of Carol in them. Gripping the knife tightly, she pulled it back and went to strike.

Instead of plunging it into Brown, she spun and stabbed it into Whitman's heart.

"I am nothing like you!" Stef screamed in her face as she heaved and spun the blade in a full circle.

With nothing more, Carol dropped toward the ground but disappeared before the body could hit.

Composing herself before she turned back to Brown, she pulled the knives from his arms. Leaning heavily against the wall, he looked away from her. 

They stood in a heavy silence for a few moments before Whitman's walls disappeared and Smith and Jones could get through.

Jones shifted Brown away to the tech lab; the combat agent's code needed repairing. 

"She's gone?"

"For now, for how long I don't know," Stef replied – with Jonas in the picture nothing was certain.

"Are you going to put the knife down?" Stef looked down at her hand, she was holding on to it so tight that all the color had drained from her knuckles. Her enemy's blood was covering the entire blade.

"For a few seconds I really considered it. I considered becoming her." Stef shook at the thoughts she had had.

"Should you go finish your talk with Clarke?"

"The mainframe is going to delete me." Oh yeah – she'd forgotten that.

"Then why are you still here? It's too dangerous." Turing and starting to run for the exit she ran straight into Clarke. "Oh crap," she muttered under her breath.

"Exile 5323-27. You have been reconnected to the system. You are an agent again." The other agent disappeared.

"What in hell just happened?" Stef asked as her clothes shifted and her suit replaced itself.

"You're one of us again."

She was an agent again. She smiled, it was all she wanted. 

Suddenly, she coughed and a few green matrix symbols flew from her mouth. "What in hell was that?"

"Your code needs to be stabilized."

"I am not going to see Jones now. Brown is down there."

"You will or you'll be coughing them up for the next ten years."

"Fine."

*****

Both Brown and Stef were lying on slabs in the tech lab as Jones and his assistants repaired codes. "This may feel familiar," Jones muttered as he typed on his laptop near Stef.

"What…? Ooh pretty," she giggled highly as Jones pumped some code in the fill the gaps that Whitman had made. The gaps were only small so the needed data would drain itself from the mainframe data stream. But to her it felt like a not quite natural high.

Brown sat up and observed her high behavior. Knowing she was in his presence she desperately tried to sober up. But she couldn't be blamed for her behavior; it was the code's fault. The buzz made her forget that the same thing that was healing her had almost killed her. 

"Be. Quiet." Brown snarled the order.

Jones stood from his computer and required a checkerboard. He held it above her head and required it to spin around slowly. "Just watch this Mimosa."

Stef lay back down and watched the spinning bored with the concentration of a stoner, very quiet except for the occasional 'wow' or 'trippy Jones, it's really trippy.' 

"Your turn," Jones commented as he sat back down. Brown was on him in a second. He wrenched the tech from his seat and slammed him against the wall. Jones was shocked by the move.

"Brown?"

"You will not do that to me. You will repair my code not infest it. I will not become flawed as you have. I am the perfect program you once were but are not anymore. You will not take that away from me."

"Leave 'im alone," Stef drawled before slapping her forehead and giggling again.

"The mainframe has sanctioned this course of action Agent Brown." Jones said, trying to be the voice of reason.

"The mainframe also condones your continued existence even though you were an addict. That was unforgivable behavior, you should have been deleted for it."

Jones didn't have a response for that.

"I am in a room with two disgraces. Two beings that should have not been allowed to continue to exist. But, I can rectify that right now."

"I'm high…so high…so very high…Trippy…pretty colors." Stef mumbled as she walked toward the door. Suddenly the door and Jones' two assistants disappeared. 

They were locked in a cube with no exits. 

"Brown?" Jones asked the tall agent.

"I am going to rid myself of the imperfection around me." He smashed Jones into the wall repeatedly. Stef, who wasn't as out of it as she had been pretending to be, watched in horror as she saw a small trickle of blood run down the corner of the tech agent's mouth.

He had required them both to be human. That couldn't be good.

"Get off him! You're going to kill him!"

As he held the slight agent up by his collar Brown turned his head. "That's the idea. You're next." He released one of his hands and formed a fist with it.

"No," Jones said weakly.

As it impacted Stef heard the tech agent's skull crumple. He stopped moving. Dead green eyes rolled upwards as the combat agent released the body.

"Oh god," Stef uttered. She bashed her earpiece but she couldn't even get any static. Reaching into her holster, she found her gun gone. She was helpless.

Brown leered as he walked toward her. "Finally I get to get rid of you." He lunged at her but she jumped out of his way. She managed to stay one step ahead of him until he caught a hold of her jacket. She swung her arms back so that was all that he was holding.

Backing away, she tripped over one of Jones' inert legs. It was a fatal mistake.

He reached down and pulled her up by her throat. She clawed at his hand but he didn't feel pain. Pushing her into a wall, he secured her there by leaning against her. 

She wasn't getting any oxygen. He'd just hold her there until she asphyxiated. 

One death-cold hand pressed against her chest. His fingers pushed into…through her flesh, breaking any bone they encountered she felt his icy fingers wrap around her heart.

Then…nothing.


	15. Dawn of Dusk: Chapter Nine The Last Chap...

**Title: **Dawn Of Dusk: The Last Chapter

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **348

Sorry it's only short. I might do a rewrite.****

**Please Read and Review.**

Everything seeped into a liquid blackness. As the light returned three numbers came into focus first. 3.27.

It was 3.27 am again.

Jonas.

Who else?

None of it had really happened. A glitch inside a nightmare contrived by the master of the universe. Some elements she knew were real, the exiles, Carol in the real world, stuff like that. 

But none of the weeks on end had happened.

Opening a notepad document on her computer she typed in: [Why do you do this?]

His answer came a few seconds later. [Because I can.]

Giving the computer the finger she shifted to Smith's office. He looked away from his computer as she sat in the spare chair.

"Mind if I hang around here for a while?"

"No – why?"

"I just don't particularly want to be alone right now."

"No one should be alone on their birthday."

"How did you know?"

"It's on your file. Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."

"Well, since you aren't busy…" he smiled.

"What?" he was up to something.

A couple of requirements later, there was a small cake on the table with twenty-three in icing on the top. Reaching across the desk, he placed a party hat on her head.

"I haven't worn one of these since I was three. Where's yours?"

"I refuse to wear a party hat."

"Not while I'm around," she said, requiring one for him to wear.

*****

A week later.

Stef walked through the alleys and back streets looking for a person.

"Damn," she heard him say. "Out of paint."

Turning a corner, she came across the hippy-surfer who was shaking his now empty spray can. She cleared her throat.

"Double damn," Hummer said. "Can I have a head start at least?" 

"Out of paint?"

"Well, a smart agent – who'da thunk it?"

"Shut up Hummer. What color do you want?"

"You're going to give me paint?"

"I owe you."

"Well in that case kitty…" he looked at his artwork. "What do you think? Red paint or blue paint?"

The End.

Finally.

Thank you for reviewing this huge fic.

C Ya

Stormhawk


	16. Flight of Shadows: Conclusion

**Title: **Epilogue 

**Author: **Stormhawk

**Word Count: **1862****

**Notes: **This should have come sooner but I didn't even think of it until the other day. Sorry.****

**Please Read and Review.**

Hummer looked at her suspiciously, "blue," he finally stumbled nervously. Smiling, a can of blue spray paint appeared in her hand. He smiled then returned to his work, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.

"What's wrong Hummer?"

"How do you know my name agent?"

"I…" he didn't remember her, of course not. Jonas had erased everyone else's memories of it. "I just do, my name's Stef."

"What kind of name is that for an agent?"

"It's my name," she hoped he wouldn't write her off just cause she was an agent; Hummer had been the first exile to befriend her. 

"I see," he said. He dropped the can and leant back onto the wall, "just shoot me and get it over with," he said pulling his sunglasses down, crossing his arms across his tie-dyed shirt he swallowed. "I'd like to at least see it coming instead of being shot in the back like a coward."

Oh, he'd thought she was going to kill him – that explained it. "I'm not going to shoot you."

"Oh, and why not? You're an agent; it's what you do. Hunt exile, kill exile. If you're thinking that I'll give you our secrets then you're…wrong."

"Dude relax, I just want to be your friend."

"Really kitty? I can stop calling you that if you want, I have a habit of giving people nicknames."

"It's fine dude."

"What's your other name? Agent what?"

"Mimosa." 

"Agent Mim you're really not gonna shoot me?"

"That would be most un-gnarly."

"Cool," he said as he smiled and pushed his sunglasses back up. "Shoot," he said looking at his watch, "I got to get to work."

"McDonald's – I know."

"One day you'll tell me how you know."

He waited in silence for her to leave. He wasn't ready to give up the secret of the backdoors quite yet; it was the exile's one true secret that kept them safe. "I know about the backdoors Hummer."

He went goggle-eyed; surely they were done for if an agent knew about them. "How?"

"I just do, that's something I have to ask you."

"Go ahead kitty," he said – still stunned.

"I need a key. I have no intentions of betraying the exiles, I'll even help them if I can but I need a key."

He chuckled nervously, this was insane. "Dudette, this is far out – you're the enemy – I can't give you a key."

"You can trust me."

"How can I know that?"

"Programs are people too," she said quoting his own graffiti tag, which this time around had only gotten half way through. 

"And as such," he said solemnly, revealing his serious side, "they are treated accordingly. As people, some can be trusted and some can't."

"I'm one of the ones you can." 

He stared at her for a good solid minute, "hey – you've got a trace of us in you."

That stopped her, "what?"  
  


"What you don't know kitty? You've got an exile trace, marker something like that. You were one of us once."

That shouldn't be there, Jonas erased that history. If the others found out about it then there would be serious trouble, she would be made to expose the unreality of the Matrix. Damn it. "I…what does it mean?"

"Well, for one thing it makes it a lot simpler for you."

"How so?"

"Exiles are the only ones who can access the backdoors because we have the keys which," he said digging into his pocket and holding his up, "is how we escape you people. The thing of the backdoor is to the human or agent eye they seem exactly the same, exiles _know _which one is the right door. It's something that the exile coding lets us do. If an agent got in there they wouldn't have an idea which door led where."

"I see."

"Let's go see Death."

"How is Charlie?"

"Agent Mim what don't you know?"

"How to get paint stains out of shirts which you're going to have to figure out," she said tugging at his shirt. "You've got paint all over your back."

"Dude, un-gnarly."

"It's ok man, you'll fix it."

He walked toward the old door of the abandoned building that he was defacing and pushed the key into it. Hesitating for a moment and wondering whether or not it was a good idea he opened it. The backdoors were exactly as she remembered them. 

White.

Very white.

"Charlie is the only one who can give you a key, he gives them to the programs that choose to go exile after they are deleted. But I would seriously doubt if he would give one to an agent if they showed up, too dangerous but I think we can trust you."

Oh, so that's why he hadn't given one to her and just sent her on her way. 

Hummer pulled out a different key as they walked down the hall. "What is that, a prop from The Goonies?" she asked as she looked at it, it seemed ancient and had a skull on the top of it. 

"No, this is the Death Key, there are only two of these, Charlie has one and I have the other. It is special, inserted into any backdoor it will take you to him. He has a place where he waits for programs to be deleted and after…"

"Giving them a perfect memory," she said quietly.

"Yeah, he gives them the choice." She nodded as they walked up to a door, pushing the key in he opened it.

The room they entered was such a contrast to the backdoors. It was a myriad of shades of blue, round and ringed by doors. In the center was a desk where Charlie sat with his computer. 

"Hey Hummer," he said not bothering to look up, his friend was the only other one with a key to this place. 

"Hey dude, someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Who?" he asked as he looked up. The Grim Reaper went as pale as a sheet as he looked at the agent. "Hummer do you know what that is?"

"You think he's stupid or something?" Stef said coming to her new friend's defense. "I'm no threat."

"You're an agent of course you are."

"She's not gonna sell us out, she wants to help us."

"She's brainwashed you," he said as he shut his laptop down and tucked it under his arm. "This is what she wants, it's got a list of all the exiles, their d-base isn't anywhere as good as this one."

"I just want a key."

Charlie laughed at her and shook his head. "No way in hell am I giving an agent a key."

"Charlie before you say no check out her code," the hippy said with a nod.

"Exile traces?" he asked after staring at her for long moment. "Where did they come from?"

"They're part of me."

"What you think Hum?"

"If she is lying the worst she can do is cause our downfall. The best is helping to prevent it."

Charlie sighed and walked over to a cupboard; pulling it open he selected a key. "Here," he said handing it to her. "If you are tricking us I have exiles on file that could destroy you."

"I will never betray the exiles."

Hummer smiled then stamped his foot, "I'm late for work!" Stef just smiled.

*****

Shifting back to the Agency later she needed to find out why she had exile markers in her system. Walking down the corridor she knocked on Jones' office.

"Come in."

Opening the door the lights came on, Jones looked up from his monitors. "How can I help you?"

She hesitated; maybe this wasn't such a good idea but then again she had to know. "Jones why do I have stuff in my code that reads like an exile?"

"They are only trace makers, nothing to be worried about."

Huh? "How did I get them?"

He frowned, "I would have assumed you knew. You were, admittedly a sanctioned one, but you were an exile for a few days."

Stef thought for a moment, then she understood. "When Whitman came back?" The tech agent nodded. 

"Thanks Jones," she said as she turned and left. 

***** 

A few days later she sat with her eyes closed, her fingers resting on the worn material of the chair. The room was dusty and the building abandoned but the two chairs were still there. 

"I knew I'd find you here," a voice said and she opened her eyes.

"Hello," she said as Smith sat in the chair opposite. "That's Morpheus' chair," she commented sardonically. 

Smith didn't comment on that as he sat back in the dilapidated chair. "Red pill or blue pill?"

"No thanks Morph, I'll take the Matrix," she said with a smirk.

"No, what would you have chosen? If…"

She finished the question for him. "You'd shown up a few seconds later?" 

He nodded. "Yes, I've always wanted to know."

"So you chose our anniversary to ask?"

"Anniversary of your recruitment, not our first meeting," he said needlessly reminding her.

"Yes sir Angel Smith sir, when was that anyway?"

"The fifteenth of March. Well?"

"I'll answer that if you answer this. Why me?"

He was confused. "Why you what?"

"Of all the recruits you chose to make me an agent. I hadn't even been here as long as the other recruits you guys had at the time. It's not that I mind, I just wonder."

"You fought…"

"Don't tell me it was cause I survived a fight with Anderson, that is not the reason, I know it's not."

"No, that's not the reason although it was on the list submitted to the mainframe as proof to let it happen."

"Is it because you expected me to turn into Whitman? You needed an experiment to perfect the transfer process so it could happen to all the good recruits."

"Don't you ever dare think that Stef. Admittedly Brown still thinks you will snap and it's not improbable according to Jones that is not the reason why. You are not her. Allow me to prove it to you."

She tugged at her short brown hair, "how?"

"Months ago I had Jones put a code in you, a shatter command that could be triggered by a string of code words. This code would be initiated if you turned into her." Yeah, she knew that code too well. "You don't need it."

"Deactivate code," he spoke clearly. "Wall, angel, rebel, milk, recruit, death, trust." She blinked as she felt something delete itself from her code. "You are not her."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, "but you didn't answer my question."

He faltered, he didn't know how to put it into words, "I…had a feeling," he said finally. "I just knew you'd be worth it. I've never regretted that decision."

He had no idea how good that made her feel, all the worry left her. She smiled. 

"Now," he said sitting forward in his chair. "Answer my question."

After all this time it felt like a betrayal. 

"Stef?" he wasn't going to let her slip away without an answer.

"Red pill."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Does this feel tacked on (even though it is J ) cause that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to set up a couple of things (like Stef getting her key and the exile marker (which may or may not have an impact in the 002 arc) and I wanted to finish off the whole story a little better than what I had done, the old ending I wrote in like fifteen minutes flat because I was going away for two weeks and where I was going didn't have the net. 

The last conversation was something I've always wanted to put in but had never had the place to. Did it make sense? 


End file.
